MRS.  FITZ 


MRS.    FITZ 


BY 

J.  C.  SNAITH 

AUTHOR  OP  "FORTUNE,"  "ARAMINTA," 
"BROKE  OP  COVENDEN,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
MOFFAT,  YARD  AND  COMPANY 

1910 


Copyright,  1910,  by 

MOFFAT,  YARD  AND  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK 


Published  October,  1910 


THE    QUINN    A    BODEN    CO.    PRESS 


MRS.  FITZ 


"Ir  is  snowing,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot. 

"Worse  luck !"  growled  I  from  behind  my  newspaper. 
"This  unspeakable  climate!  Why  can't  we  sack  the 
Clerk  of  the  Weather !" 

"Because  he  is  a  permanent  official,"  said  Joseph 
Jocelyn  De  Vere  Vane-Anstruther,  who  was  coming  into 
the  room.  "And  those  are  the  people  who  run  the  be- 
nighted country." 

Joseph  Jocelyn  De  Vere  Vane-Anstruther  was  in 
rather  smart  kit.  It  was  December  the  first,  and  the 
hounds — there  is  only  one  pack  in  the  United  Kingdom 
— were  about  to  pay  an  annual  visit  to  the  country  of  a 
neighbour.  With  conscious  magnificence  my  relation 
by  marriage  took  a  bee-line  to  the  sideboard.  He  paused 
a  moment  to  debate  to  which  of  two  imperative  duties 
he  should  give  the  precedence :  i.e.  to  make  his  daily  re- 
port upon  the  personal  appearance  of  his  host,  or  to 
find  out  what  there  was  to  eat.  The  state  of  the  ele- 
ments enabled  Mother  Nature  "to  get  a  cinch"  on  an 
honourable  sestheticisim.  Jodey  began  to  forage  slowly 
but  resolutely  among  the  dish  covers. 

3 

2138399 


4  MRS.    FITZ 

"Kedgeree !  Twice  in  a  fortnight.  Look  here  Mops, 
it  won't  do." 

Mrs.  Arbuthnot  was  perusing  that  journal  which 
for  the  modest  sum  of  one  halfpenny  purveys  the  glam- 
our of  history  with  only  five  per  cent,  of  its  responsi- 
bilities. She  merely  turned  over  a  page.  Her  brother, 
having  heaped  enough  kedgeree  upon  his  plate  to  make 
a  meal  for  the  average  person,  peppered  and  salted  it  on 
a  scale  equally  liberal  and  then  suggested  coffee. 

"Tea  is  better  for  the  digestion,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuth- 
not, with  her  natural  air  of  simple  authority. 

"I  know,"  said  Jodey.  "That  is  why  I  prefer  the 
other  stuff." 

"Men  are  so  reasonable !" 

"Do  you  mind  'andin'  the  sugar?" 

"Sugar  will  make  you  a  welter  and  ruin  your  appear- 
ance." 

A  cardinal  axiom  of  my  friend  Mrs.  Josiah  P. 
Perkins,  nee  Ogbourne,  late  of  Brownsville,  Mass.,  is 
"Horse-sense  always  tells."  Among  the  daughters  of 
men  I  know  none  whose  endowment  of  this  felicitous 
quality  can  equal  that  of  the  amiable  participator  in 
my  expenditure.  It  told  in  this  case. 

"Better  give  me  tea." 

"Without  sugar?"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  with  great 
charm  of  manner. 

"A  small  lump,"  said  Jodey  as  a  concession  to  his 
force  of  character. 

The  young  fellow  stirred  his  tea  with  so  much  dili- 
gence that  the  small  lump  really  seemed  like  a  large 


ACCORDING    TO    REUTER  5 

one.  And  then  with  a  gravity  that  was  somewhat  sin- 
ister, he  fixed  his  gaze  on  my  coat  and  leathers. 

"By  a  local  artist  of  the  name  of  Jobson,"  said  I 
humbly.  "The  second  shop  on  the  right  as  you  enter 
Middleham  High  Street." 

"They  speak  for  themselves." 

"My  father  went  there,"  said  I.  "My  grandfather 
also.  In  my  grandfather's  day  I  believe  the  name  of 
the  firm  was  Wiseman  and  Grundy." 

"It's  not  fair  to  'ounds.  If  I  was  Brasset  I  should 
take  'em  'ome." 

"If  you  were  Brasset,"  I  countered,  "that  would 
hardly  be  necessary.  They  would  find  their  way  home 
by  themselves." 

"Mops  is  to  blame.  She  has  been  brought  up  prop- 
erly." 

"It  comes  to  this,  my  friend.  We  can't  both  wear 
the  breeches.  Hers  cost  a  pretty  penny  from  those 
thieves  in  Regent  Street." 

"Maddox  Street,"  said  a  bland  voice  from  the  re- 
cesses of  the  Daily  Courier. 

"Those  bandits  in  Maddox  Street,"  said  I  with 
pathos.  "But  for  all  I  know  it  might  be  those  sharks 
in  the  Mile  End  Road.  I  am  a  babe  in  these  things." 

"No,  my  dear  Odo,"  said  the  young  fellow,  making 
his  point  somewhat  elaborately,  "in  those  things  you  are 
a  perisher.  An  absolute  perisher.  I'm  ashamed  to  be 
seen  'untin'  the  same  fox  with  you.  I  should  be  ashamed 
to  be  found  dead  in  the  same  ditch.  I  hate  people  who 
are  not  serious  about  clothes.  It's  so  shallow." 

My  relation  by  marriage  produced  an  extremely  vivid 


6  MRS.   FITZ 

yellow  silk  handkerchief,  and  pensively  flicked  a  speck  of 
invisible  dust  off  an  immaculate  buckskin. 

"My  God,  those  tops !" 

"By  a  local  draughtsman,"  said  I,  "of  the  name  of 
Bussey.  He  is  careful  in  the  measurements  and  takes 
a  drawing  of  the  foot. 

"  'Orrible.  You  look  like  a  Cossack  at  the  Hippo- 
drome." 

"The  Madam  patronises  an  establishment  in  Bond 
Street.  One  is  given  to  understand  that  various  royal- 
ties follow  her  example." 

"They  make  for  the  King  of  Illyria,"  said  Mrs.  Ar- 
buthnot. 

"That  is  interesting,"  said  I  in  response  to  a  quizzi- 
cal glance  from  the  breakfast  table.  The  fact  is  my 
amiable  coadjutor  in  the  things  of  this  life  has  a  de- 
cided weakness  for  royalty.  She  denies  it  vehemently 
and  betrays  it  shamelessly  on  every  possible  occasion. 

"Very  interestin'  indeed,"  said  her  brother. 

In  the  next  moment  a  cry  of  surprise  floated  out  of 
the  depths  of  the  halfpenny  newspaper. 

"What  a  coincidence!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Arbuthnot. 
"There  has  been  an  attempt  on  the  life  of  the  King  of 
Illyria.  They  have  thrown  a  bomb  into  his  palace  and 
killed  the  brother  of  the  Prime  Minister." 

"In  the  interests  of  the  shareholders  of  the  Daily 
Courier"  said  I. 

"Be  serious,  Odo,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot.  "To  think 
of  that  dear  old  king  being  in  danger !" 

"Yes,  the  dear  old  king,"  said  Jodey. 

"I  think  you  are  horrid,  both  of  you,"  said  Mrs.  Ar- 


ACCORDING  TO  REUTER  7 

buthnot  with  the  spirit  that  made  her  an  admired  mem- 
ber of  the  Crackanthorpe  Hunt.  "Those  horrid 
Illyrians !  They  don't  deserve  to  have  a  king.  They 
ought  to  be  like  France  and  America  and  Switzerland." 

"They  will  soon  be  in  that  unhappy  position,"  said  I, 
turning  to  page  four  of  the  Times  newspaper.  "Accord- 
ing to  Reuter,  it  appears  to  have  been  a  bond  fide  at- 
tempt. Count  Cyszysc " 

"You  sneeze  twice,"  suggested  Jodey. 

"Count  Cyszysc  was  blown  to  pieces  on  the  threshold 
of  the  Zweisgarten  Palace,  the  whole  of  the  south-west 
front  of  which  was  wrecked." 

"The  wretches !"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot.  "They  are 
only  fit  to  have  a  republic.  Such  a  dear  old  man,  the 
ideal  of  what  a  king  ought  to  be.  Don't  you  remem- 
ber him  in  the  state  procession  riding  next  to  the 
Kaiser?" 

"The  old  Johnny  with  the  white  hair,"  said  Jodey, 
reaching  for  the  marmalade. 

"He  looked  every  inch  a  king,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot, 
"and  Illyria  is  not  a  very  large  place  either." 

"In  a  small  and  obscure  country,"  I  ventured  to  ob- 
serve, "you  have  to  look  every  inch  a  king,  else  nobody 
will  believe  that  you  are  one.  In  a  country  as  impor- 
tant as  ours  it  doesn't  matter  if  a  king  looks  like  a  com- 
mercial traveler." 

"By  the  way,"  said  Jodey,  who  had  a  polite  horror  of 
anything  that  could  be  construed  as  lese  majeste, 
"where  is  Illyria?" 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  I,  "don't  you  know  where 
Illyria  is?" 


8  MRS.    FITZ 

"I'll  bet  you  a  pony  that  you  don't  either,"  said 
Jodey,  striving,  as  young  fellows  will,  to  cover  his  igno- 
rance by  a  display  of  effrontery. 

"Haven't  you  been  to  Blaenau  ?  Don't  you  know  the 
Sveltkes,  hoch !  hoch !" 

"No;  do  you?"  said  the  young  fellow,  brazenly. 

"They  are  the  oldest  reigning  family  in  Europe," 
said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  severely. 

"How  do  you  know  that,  Mops?"  said  the  sceptical 
youth. 

"It  says  so  in  the  German  'Who's  Who,'  "  said  the 
Madam  sternly.  "I  looked  them  up  on  purpose." 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  I,  "if  you  knew  a  little  less 
about  polo,  and  a  little  less  about  hunting  the  fox,  and 
a  little  more  about  geography  and  foreign  languages 
and  the  things  that  make  for  efficiency,  you  would  be 
au  courant  with  the  kingdom  of  Illyria  and  its  reigning 
family.  Tell  the  young  fellow  where  that  romantic 
country  is,  old  lady." 

"First  you  go  to  Paris,"  said  the  Madam,  with  ad- 
mirable lucidity.  "And  then,  I'm  not  sure,  but  I  think 
you  come  to  Vienna,  and  then  I  believe  you  cut  across 
and  you  come  to  Illyria.  And  then  you  come  to  Blaenau, 
the  capital,  where  the  King  lives,  which  is  five  hundred 
miles  from  St.  Petersburg  as  the  crow  flies,  because  I've 
marked  it  on  the  map." 

"Well,  if  you've  really  marked  it  on  the  map,"  said  I, 
"it  is  only  reasonable  to  assume  that  the  kingdom  of 
Illyria  is  in  a  state  of  being." 

"You  are  too  absurd,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot.  "The 
place  is  well  known  and  its  king  is  famous." 


ACCORDING  TO  REUTER  9 

"I  wonder  if  there  is  decent  shooting  in  Illyria," 
said  Jocelyn  De  Vere,  with  that  air  of  tacit  condescen- 
sion which  gained  him  advancement  throughout  the 
English-speaking  world.  "One  might  try  it  for  a  week 
to  shew  one  has  no  feelin'  against  it." 

"Where  there  is  a  king  there  is  always  decent  shoot- 
ing," I  ventured  to  observe. 

Mrs.  Arbuthnot  returned  to  her  newspaper. 

"They  want  to  form  a  republic  in  Illyria,"  she  an- 
nounced, "but  the  old  king  is  determined  to  thwart 
them." 

"A  bit  of  a  sportsman,  evidently,"  said  her  brother. 
"But  never  mind  Illyria.  Give  me  some  more  coffee. 
We've  got  to  be  at  the  Cross  Roads  by  eleven." 

"No  mortal  use,  I  am  afraid,"  said  I.  "The  glass 
has  gone  right  back.  And  look  through  the  window." 

"Good  old  British  climate !  And  on  that  side  they've 
got  one  of  the  best  bits  o'  country  in  the  shires,  and 
Morton's  covers  are  always  choke  full  of  foxes." 

In  spite  of  his  pessimism,  however,  my  relation  by 
marriage  continued  to  deal  faithfully  with  the  modest 
repast  that  had  been  offered  him.  Also  he  was  fain  to 
inquire  of  the  mistress  of  the  house  whether  enough 
sandwiches  had  been  cut  and  whether  both  flasks  had 
been  filled ;  and  from  the  nominal  head  of  our  modest  es- 
tablishment he  sought  to  learn  what  arrangements  had 
been  made  for  the  second  horsemen. 

"They  will  not  be  wanted  to-day,  I  fear." 

"Pooh,  a  few  flakes  o'  snow !" 

It  was  precisely  at  this  moment  that  the  toot  of  a 
motor  horn  was  heard.  A  sixty  horse  power  six  cylin- 


10  MRS.    FITZ 

dered  affair  of  the  latest  design  was  seen  to  steal 
through  the  shrubbery  en  route  to  the  front  door. 

"Why,  wasn't  that  Brasset?" 

"His  car  certainly." 

"What  does  the  blighter  want?" 

"He  has  brought  us  the  information  that  Morton 
has  telephoned  through  to  say  that  there  is  a  foot  of 
snow  on  the  Wolds  and  that  hounds  had  better  stay  at 
the  kennels." 

"Pooh,"  said  Jodey,  "he  wouldn't  have  troubled  to 
come  himself.  You've  got  a  telephone,  ain't  you?" 

"Doubtless  he  also  wishes  to  confer  with  Mrs.  Ar- 
buthnot  upon  the  state  of  things  in  Illyria.  He  is  a 
very  serious  fellow  with  political  ambitions." 

Further  I  might  have  added,  which  however  I  did  not, 
that  the  Master  of  the  Crackanthorpe  was  somewhat 
assiduous  in  his  attitude  of  respectful  attention  towards 
my  seductive  co-participator  in  this  vale  of  tears,  who 
on  her  side  was  rather  apt  to  pride  herself  upon  an 
old-fashioned  respect  for  the  peerage.  The  prospect 
of  a  visit  from  the  noble  Master  caused  her  to  discard 
the  affairs  of  the  Illyrian  monarchy  in  favour  of  a 
subject  even  more  pregnant  with  interest. 

"If  it  is  Reggie  Brasset,"  said  she,  renouncing  the 
Daily  Courier,  "he  has  come  about  Mrs.  Fitz." 

"Get  out!"  said  the  scornful  Jodey.  "You  people 
down  here  have  got  Mrs.  Fitz  on  the  brain." 

Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes !  It  was  perfectly  true 
that  in  our  own  little  corner  of  the  world  people  had 
got  Mrs.  Fitz  on  the  brain. 


CHAPTER  II 

TRIBULATIONS  OF  A  M.F.H. 

BRASSET  it  certainly  was.  And  when  he  came  into  the 
room  looking  delightfully  healthy,  decidedly  handsome 
and  a  great  deal  more  serious  than  a  minister  of  the 
Crown,  his  first  words  were  to  the  effect  that  Morton 
had  telephoned  through  to  say  that  they  had  a  foot  of 
snow  on  the  Wolds  and  that  hounds  had  better  stay 
where  they  were. 

"Awfully  good  of  you,  Brasset,  to  come  and  tell  us," 
said  I  heartily.  "Have  some  breakfast." 

"No,  thanks,"  said  Brasset.  "The  fact  is,  as  we  are 
not  going  over  to  Morton's  I  thought  this  would  be  a 
good  opportunity  to —  to " 

For  some  reason  the  noble  Master  did  not  appear 
to  know  how  to  complete  his  sentence. 

"Yes,  Lord  Brasset,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot,  with  an 
air  of  acute  intelligence. 

"A  good  opportunity  to — to — "  said  Brasset,  who 
in  spite  of  his  seriousness  really  looked  absurdly  young 
to  be  the  master  of  such  a  pack  as  ours. 

"Yes,  Lord  Brasset,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  again. 

"Yes,  quite  so,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  I,  without,  as  I 
hope  and  believe,  the  least  appearance  of  levity,  for  the 
uncompromising  eye  of  authority  was  upon  me. 

11 


12  MRS.    FITZ 

"What's  up,  Brasset?"  said  Jodey,  who  contrary 
to  the  regulations  was  lighting  his  pipe  at  the  breakfast 
table,  and  who  combined  with  his  many  engaging  quali- 
ties an  extremely  practical  mind.  "You  want  a  glass 
of  beer.  Parkins,  bring  his  lordship  a  glass  of  beer." 

With  this  aid  to  the  body  corporeal  in  his  hand,  and 
with  a  pair  of  large,  serious  and  admirably  solicitous 
eyes  fixed  upon  him,  the  noble  Master  made  a  third  at- 
tempt to  complete  his  sentence.  This  time  he  succeeded. 

"The  fact  is,"  said  he,  "I  thought  this  would  be  a 
good  opportunity  to — to — "  Here  the  noble  Master 
made  a  heroic  dash  for  England,  home  and  glory — "to 
talk  over  this  confounded  business  of  Mrs.  Fitz." 

Mrs.  Arbuthnot  sat  bolt  upright  with  an  air  of  ec- 
stasy and  the  expression  "there,  what  did  I  tell  you!" 
written  all  over  her. 

"Quite  so,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  I,  in  simple  good 
faith,  but  happening  at  that  moment  to  intercept  a 
glance  from  a  feminine  eye,  had  perforce  to  smother 
my  countenance  somewhat  hastily  in  the  voluminous 
folds  of  The  Times. 

"What  about  her?"  inquired  the  occupant  of  the 
breakfast  table,  who  whatever  the  angels  might  happen 
to  be  doing  at  any  given  moment,  never  hesitated  to 
walk  right  in  with  both  feet.  "I  was  saying  to  Arbuth- 
not and  my  sister  just  as  you  came  in,  that  you  people 
down  here  have  got  Mrs.  Fitz  on  the  brain." 

"Yes,  I  am  afraid  we  have,"  said  Brasset  ruefully. 
"The  fact  is,  things  are  coming  to  such  a  pass  that  they 
can't  go  on." 


TRIBULATIONS  OF  A  M.F.H.  13 

"I  agree  with  you,  Lord  Brasset,"  said  Mrs.  Ar- 
buthnot,  with  conviction. 

"Something  must  be  done." 

"It  is  so  uncomfortable  for  everybody,"  said  Mrs. 
Arbuthnot,  "and  I  can  promise  this,  Lord  Brasset." 
The  fair  speaker  looked  ostentatiously  away  from  the 
vicinity  of  the  leading  morning  journal.  "Whatever 
steps  you  decide  to  take  in  the  matter  will  have  the  en- 
tire sympathy  and  support  of  every  woman  subscriber 
to  the  Hunt." 

"Thank  you  very  much  indeed,  Mrs.  Arbuthnot,"  said 
the  noble  Master,  with  feeling.  "I  am  very  grateful  to 
you.  It  will  help  me  very  much." 

"  We  held  a  meeting  in  Mrs.  Catesby's  drawing-room 
on  Sunday  afternoon.  We  passed  a  resolution  express- 
ing the  fullest  confidence  in  you — I  wish,  Lord  Brasset, 
you  could  have  heard  what  was  said  about  you — "  The 
Master's  picturesque  complexion  achieved  a  more 
roseate  tinge.  "Our  unanimous  support  and  approval 
was  voted  to  you  in  all  that  you  may  feel  called  upon 
to  do." 

"A  thousand  thanks,  my  dear  Mrs.  Arbuthnot." 

"And  we  hope  you  will  turn  Mrs.  Fitz  out  of  the 
Hunt.  I  also  brought  forward  an  amendment  that 
Fitz  be  turned  out  as  well,  but  it  was  decided  by  six  votes 
to  four  to  give  him  another  chance.  But  in  the  case  of 
Mrs.  Fitz  the  meeting  was  absolutely  unanimous." 

"My  God !"  said  the  occupant  of  the  breakfast  table, 
"If  that  ain't  the  limit !" 

"Mrs.  Fitz  is  a  good  deal  more  than  the  limit."  Mrs. 
Arbuthnot's  eyes  sparkled  with  truculence. 


14  MRS.    FITZ 

"Have  a  cigarette,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  I,  offering 
my  case  to  the  unfortunate  Brasset  as  soon  as  the  state 
of  my  emotions  would  permit  me  to  do  so. 

Brasset  selected  a  cigarette  with  an  air  of  intense 
melancholy.  As  he  applied  the  lighted  match  that  was 
offered  him  he  favoured  me  with  an  eye  that  was  so  woe- 
begone that  it  must  have  moved  a  heart  of  stone  to  pity. 
On  the  contrary,  my  fellow  pilgrim  through  this  vale  of 
tears  had  turned  a  most  becoming  shade  of  pink,  which 
she  invariably  does  when  she  is  really  out  upon  the  war- 
path. Also  in  her  china  blue  eyes — I  hope  such  a  de- 
scription of  these  weapons  will  pass  the  Censor — was 
a  look  of  grim  unalterable  ruthlessness,  before  which 
men  quite  as  stout  as  Brasset  have  had  to  quail. 

The  noble  Master  took  a  draw  at  his  Egyptian. 

"Look  here,  Arbuthnot,"  said  he,  "you  are  a  wise 
chap,  ain't  you?" 

"He  thinks  he's  wise,"  said  my  helpmeet. 

"Every  man  does,"  said  I,  modestly,  "not  necessarily" 
as  an  article  of  faith  but  as  a  point  of  ritual." 

"Yes,  of  course,"  said  Brasset  with  an  air  of  intelli- 
gence that  imposed  upon  nobody.  "But  everybody 
says  you  are  the  wise  chap.  That  little  Mrs.  Perkins 
says  you  are  the  wisest  chap  she  has  met  out  of  Lon- 
don." 

This  indiscretion  on  the  part  of  Brasset — some  men 
have  so  little  tact ! — provoked  a  stiffening  of  plumage ; 
and  if  the  china  blue  eyes  did  not  shoot  forth  a  spark 
this  chronicle  is  not  likely  to  be  of  much  account. 

"Stick  to  the  point,  if  you  please,"  said  I.  "I  plead 
guilty  to  being  a  Solomon." 


TRIBULATIONS  OF  A  M.F.H.  15 

"Well,  as  you  are  a  wise  chap,"  said  the  blunderer, 
"and  I'm  by  the  way  of  being  an  ass " 

"I  don't  agree  with  you  at  all,  Lord  Brasset,"  piped 
a  fair  admirer. 

"Oh,  but  I  am,  Mrs.  Arbuthnot,"  said  Brasset,  dis- 
senting with  that  courtesy  in  which  he  was  supreme. 
"It's  awfully  good  of  you  to  say  I'm  not,  but  every- 
body knows  I  am  not  much  of  a  chap  at  most  things." 

"You  may  not  be  so  clever  as  Odo,"  said  the  wife  of 
my  bosom,  "because  Odo's  exceptional.  But  you  are 
an  extremely  able  man  all  the  same,  Lord  Brasset." 

"She  means  to  attend  that  sale  at  Tatt's  on  Wednes- 
day," said  the  occupant  of  the  breakfast  table  in  an 
aside  to  the  marmalade. 

"Well,  if  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  I  think  I  am," — so 
perfect  a  sincerity  disarmed  criticism — "it  is  awfully 
good  of  you  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  to  say  so.  But  what  I 
mean  is,  I  should  like  Arbuthnot's  advice  on  the  subject 
of — on  the  subject  of " 

"On  the  subject  of  Mrs.  Fitz,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot 
with  the  coo  of  the  dove  and  the  glance  of  the  rattle- 
snake. 

"Ye-es,"  said  the  noble  Master,  nervously  dropping 
the  ash  from  his  cigarette  on  to  a  very  expensive  table- 
cloth. 

"Odo  will  be  very  pleased  indeed,  Lord  Brasset," 
said  the  superior  half  of  my  entity,  "to  give  you  advice 
about  Mrs.  Fitz.  He  agrees  with  me  and  Mary  Cates- 
by  and  Laura  Glendinning,  that  she  must  be  turned 
out  of  the  Hunt." 

Poor  Brasset  removed  a  bead  of  perspiration  from 


16  MRS.    FITZ 

the  perplexed  melancholy  of  his  features  with  a  silk 
handkerchief  of  vivid  hue,  own  brother  to  the  one 
sported  by  the  Bayard  at  the  breakfast  table,  in  a  futile 
attempt  to  cope  with  his  dismay. 

"Is  it  usual,  Mrs.  Arbuthnot?" 

"It  may  not  be  usual,  Lord  Brasset,  but  Mrs.  Fitz 
is  not  a  usual  woman." 

"My  dear  Irene,"  said  I  judicially — Mrs.  Arbuthnot 
rejoices  in  the  classical  name  of  Irene — "My  dear 
Irene,  I  understand  Brasset  to  mean  that  there  is  noth- 
ing in  the  articles  of  association  of  the  Crackan- 
thorpe  Hunt  to  provide  against  the  contingency  of 
Mrs.  Fitz  or  any  other  British  matron  overriding 
hounds  as  often  as  she  likes. 

Although  I  have  had  no  regular  legal  training  be- 
yond having  once  lunched  in  the  hall  of  Gray's  Inn, 
everybody  knows  my  uncle  the  judge.  But  I  regret  to 
say  that  this  weighty  deliverance  did  not  meet  with 
entire  respect  in  the  quarter  in  which  it  was  entitled 
to  look  for  it. 

"That  is  nonsense,  Odo,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot.  "I  am 
sure  the  Quorn " 

Brasset's  misery  assumed  so  acute  a  phase  at  the 
mention  of  the  Quorn  that  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  paused  sym- 
pathetically. 

"The  Quorn — my  God !"  muttered  the  Bayard  at  the 
breakfast  table  in  an  aside  to  the  tea-kettle. 

"Or  the  Cottesmore,"  continued  the  undefeated  Mrs. 
Arbuthnot,  "would  not  stand  such  behaviour  from  a 
person  like  Mrs.  Fitz." 

"Do  you  think  so,  Mrs.  Arbuthnot?"  said  the  noble 


TRIBULATIONS  OF  A  M.F.H.  17 

Master.  "You  see  we  shouldn't  like  to  get  our  names 
up  by  doing  something  unusual." 

"An  unusual  person  must  be  dealt  with  in  an  un- 
usual way,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  with  great  senten- 
tiousness.  "Mary  Catesby  thinks " 

The  long  arm  of  coincidence  is  sometimes  very  start- 
ling, and  I  can  vouch  for  it  that  the  entrance  of  Parkins 
at  this  psychological  moment  to  herald  the  appearance 
of  Mary  Catesby  in  the  flesh,  greatly  impressed  us  all 
as  something  quite  beyond  the  ordinary. 

"Why,  here  is  Mary,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot,  giving 
that  source  of  light  and  authority  a  cross-over  kiss  on 
both  cheeks.  It  is  the  hallmark  of  the  married  ladies  of 
our  neighbourhood  that  they  all  delight  to  exhibit  an 
almost  exaggerated  reverence  for  Mary  Catesby. 

I  have  great  esteem  for  Mary  Catesby  myself.  For 
one  thing,  she  has  deserved  well  of  her  country.  The 
mother  of  three  girls  and  five  boys,  she  is  the  British 
matron  in  excelsis ;  and  apart  from  the  habit  she  has 
formed  of  riding  in  her  horse's  mouth,  she  has  every 
attribute  of  the  best  type  of  Christian  gentlewoman. 
She  owns  to  thirty-nine — to  follow  the  ungallant  ex- 
ample of  Debrett ! — is  the  eldest  daughter  of  a  peer,  and 
is  extremely  authoritative  in  regard  to  everything  under 
the  sun,  from  the  price  of  eggs  to  the  table  of  prece- 
dence. 

The  admirable  Mary — her  full  name  is  Mary  Augus- 
ta— may  be  a  trifle  over-elaborated.  Her  horses  are 
well  up  to  fourteen  stone.  And  as  matter  and  mind  are 
one  and  the  same,  it  is  sometimes  urged  against  her 
that  her  manner  is  a  little  overwhelming.  But  this  is 


18  MRS.    FITZ 

to  seek  for  blemishes  on  the  noonday  sun  of  female  ex- 
cellence. One  of  a  more  fragile  cast  might  find  such  a 
weight  of  virtue  a  burden.  But  Mary  Catesby  wears 
it  like  a  flower. 

In  addition  to  her  virtue  she  was  also  wearing  a 
fur  cloak  whieh  was  the  secret  envy  of  the  entire  fem- 
inine population  of  the  county,  although  individual 
members  thereof  made  it  a  point  of  honour  to  proclaim 
for  the  benefit  of  one  another :  "Why  does  Mary  persist 
in  wearing  that  ermine-tailed  atrocity !  She  really  can't 
know  what  a  fright  she  looks  in  it." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Mary  Catesby  in  her  fur  cloak 
is  one  of  the  most  impressive  people  the  mind  of  man 
can  conceive.  That  fur  cloak  of  hers  can  stop  the  Fly- 
ing Dutchman  at  any  wayside  station  between  Land's 
End  and  Paddington ;  and  on  the  platform  at  the  annual 
distribution  of  prizes  at  Middleham  Grammar  School,  I 
have  seen  more  than  one  small  boy  so  completely  over- 
come by  it,  that  he  has  dropped  "Macaulay's  Essays"  on 
the  head  of  the  reporter  of  the  Advertiser. 

Besides  this  celebrated  garment,  Mary  was  adorned 
with  a  bowler  hat  with  enormous  brims,  not  unlike  that 
affected  by  Mr.  Weller  the  Elder  as  Cruickshank  de- 
picted him,  and  so  redoubtable  a  pair  of  butcher  boots 
as  literally  made  the  earth  tremble  under  her. 

Her  first  remark  was  addressed,  quite  naturally,  to 
the  unfortunate  Brasset,  who  had  been  rendered  a  little 
pinker  and  a  little  more  perplexed  than  he  already  was 
by  this  notable  woman's  impressive  entry. 

"I  consider  this  weather  disgraceful,"  said  she.     "It 


TRIBULATIONS  OF  A  M.F.H.  19 

always  is  when  we  go  over  to  Morton's.  Why  is  it, 
Reggie?" 

She  spoke  as  though  the  luckless  Reggie  was  per- 
sonally responsible  for  the  weather  and  also  for  the 
insulting  manner  in  which  that  much-criticised  British 
institution  had  deranged  her  plans. 

"I  am  awfully  sorry,  Mrs.  Catesby.  Not  much  of  a 
day,  is  it?" 

"Disgraceful.  If  one  can't  have  better  weather  than 
this,  one  might  as  well  go  and  have  a  week's  skating 
at  Prince's." 

The  idea  of  Mary  Catesby  having  a  week's  skating 
at  Prince's  seemed  to  appeal  to  Joseph  Jocelyn  De  Vere. 
At  least  that  sportsman  was  pleased  not  a  little. 

"English  style  or  Continental?"  said  he. 

Mary  Catesby  did  not  deign  to  heed. 

"I  am  awfully  sorry,  Mrs.  Catesby,"  said  Brasset 
again,  with  really  beautiful  humility. 

Mrs.  Catesby  declined  to  accept  this  delightfully 
courteous  apology,  but  gazed  down  her  chin  at  the  un- 
fortunate Brasset  with  that  ample  air  which  invariably 
makes  her  look  like  Minerva  as  Titian  conceived  that 
deity.  Silently,  pitilessly,  she  proceeded  to  fix  the  whole 
responsibility  for  the  weather  upon  the  Master  of  the 
Crackanthorpe. 

She  had  just  performed  this  feat  with  the  greatest 
efficiency,  when  by  no  means  the  least  of  her  admirers 
put  in  an  oar. 

"I'm  so  glad  you've  come,  Mary,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuth- 
not.  "We  were  just  having  it  out  with  Lord  Brasset 
about  Mrs.  Fitz." 


20  MRS.    FITZ 

An  uncomfortable  silence  followed. 

"Is  she  a  subject  for  discussion  in  a  mixed  company?" 
said  I  to  relieve  the  tension. 

"I  should  say  not,"  said  Mary.  "But  Reggie  has 
been  so  weak  that  there  is  no  help  for  it." 

"The  victim  of  circumstances,  perhaps,"  said  I,  with 
generous  unwisdom. 

"People  who  are  weak  always  are  the  victims  of  cir- 
cumstances. If  Reggie  had  only  been  firmer  at  the  be- 
ginning, we  should  not  now  be  a  laughing  stock  for 
everybody.  To  my  mind  the  first  requisite  in  a  master 
of  hounds,  is  resolution  of  character." 

"Hear,  hear,"  said  the  occupant  of  the  breakfast 
table,  sotto  voce. 

The  miserable  Brasset  whose  pinkness  and  perplexity 
were  ever  increasing,  fairly  quivered  before  the  Great 
Lady's  forensic  power. 

"Do  you  think,  Mrs.  Catesby,  I  ought  to  resign?" 
said  he,  with  the  humility  that  invites  a  kicking. 

"Not  now,  surely;  it  would  be  too  abject.  If  you 
felt  the  situation  was  beyond  you,  you  should  have  re- 
signed at  the  beginning.  You  must  show  spirit,  Reggie. 
You  must  not  submit  to  being  trampled  on  publicly  by — 
by " 

The  Great  Lady  paused,  not  because  she  was  at  a  loss 
for  a  word,  but  because  like  all  born  orators,  she  had 
an  instinctive  knowledge  of  the  value  of  a  pause  in  the 
right  place. 

"By  a  circus  rider  from  Vienna,"  she  concluded  in 
a  level  voice. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  CASE  FOR  THE  PROSECUTION 

"I  KNOW,  Mrs.  Catesby,  I'm  not  much  of  a  chap," 
said  Brasset,  "but  what's  a  feller  to  do?  I  did  drop 
a  hint  to  Fitz  you  know." 

"Fitz!"  The  art  of  litterateur  can  only  render  a 
scorn  so  sublime  by  two  marks  of  exclamation. 

"What  did  Fitz  say  ?"  I  ventured  to  inquire. 

"Scowled  like  blazes,"  said  Brasset  miserably. 
"Thought  the  cross-grained,  three-cornered  devil  would 
eat  me.  Beg  pardon,  Mrs.  Catesby." 

The  Noble  Master  subsided  into  his  glass  of  beer 
in  the  most  lamentably  ineffectual  manner. 

I  cleared  my  voice  in  the  consciousness  that  I  had  an 
uncle  a  judge. 

"Brasset,"  said  I,  "will  you  kindly  inform  the  court 
what  are  the  specific  grounds  of  complaint  against  this 
much  maligned  and  unfortunate — er  female?" 

"Don't  make  yourself  ridiculous,  Odo  !" 

"Odo,  you  know  perfectly  well!" 

It  was  a  dead  heat  between  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  and  the 
Great  Lady. 

"Order,  order,"  said  I  sternly.  "This  scene  belongs 
to  Brasset.  Now  Brasset,  answer  the  question,  and  then 
perhaps  something  may  be  done." 

21 


22  MRS.    FITZ 

It  was  not  to  be  however.  The  nephew  of  my  uncle 
failed  lamentably  to  exact  obedience  to  the  chair. 

"My  dear  Odo,"  said  Mary  Catesby,  in  what  I  can 
only  describe  as  her  Albert  Hall  manner,  with  her  voice 
going  right  up  to  the  top  like  a  flag  going  up  a  pole, 
"do  you  mean  to  tell  me ?" 

" — That  you  don't  know  how  Mrs.  Fitz  has  been 
carrying  on!"  the  Madam  chipped  in  with  really  won- 
derful cleverness. 

"I  don't,  upon  oath,"  said  I  solemnly.  "You  appear 
to  forget  that  I  have  been  giving  my  time  to  the  nation 
during  this  abominable  autumn  session." 

"So  he  has,  poor  dear,"  said  the  partner  of  my  joy. 

"Like  a  good  citizen,"  said  Mary  Catesby,  most 
august  of  Primrose  Dames. 

"Thank  you,  Mary,  I  deserve  it.  But  am  I  to  under- 
stand that  Mrs.  Fitz  has  flung  her  cap  over  the  mill, 
or  that  she  has  taken  to  riding  astride,  or  is  it  that  she 
continues  to  affect  that  scarlet  coat  which  last  season 
hastened  the  end  of  the  Dowager  ?" 

"No,  Arbuthnot."  It  was  the  voice  of  Brasset,  vi- 
brating with  such  deep  emotion  that  it  can  only  be  com- 
pared to  the  MarcJie  Funebre  performed  upon  a  cathed- 
ral organ.  "But  it  was  only  by  God's  mercy  that  last 
Tuesday  morning  she  didn't  override  Challenger." 

"Allah  is  great,"  said  I. 

"Upon  my  solemn  word  of  honour,"  said  the  noble 
Master,  speaking  from  the  depths,  "she  was  within  two 
inches  of  the  old  gal's  stern." 

"Parkins,"  said  a  voice  from  the  breakfast  table, 
"bring  another  glass  of  beer  for  his  lordship." 


CASE  FOR  THE  PROSECUTION  23 

To  be  perfectly  frank,  liquid  sustenance  was  no  longer 
a  vital  necessity  to  the  noble  Master.  He  was  already 
rosy  with  indignation  at  the  sudden  memory  of  his 
wrongs.  Only  one  thing  can  induce  Brasset  to  display 
even  a  normal  amount  of  spirit.  That  is  the  welfare 
of  the  sacred  charges  over  which  he  presides  for  the 
public  weal.  He  will  suffer  you  to  punch  his  head,  to 
tread  on  his  toe,  or  to  call  him  names,  and  as  likely  as 
not,  he  will  apologise  sweetly  for  any  inconvenience  you 
may  have  incurred  in  the  process.  But  if  you  belittle 
the  Crackanthorpe  Hounds  or  in  any  way  endanger  the 
humblest  member  of  the  Fitzwilliam  strain,  woe  unto 
you.  You  transform  Brasset  into  a  veritable  man  of 
blood  and  iron.  He  is  invested  with  pathos  and  dignity. 
The  lightnings  of  heaven  flash  from  beneath  his  long- 
lashed  orbs ;  and  from  his  somewhat  narrow  chest,  there 
is  bodied  forth  a  far  richer  vocabulary  than  the  gen- 
eral inefficiency  of  his  appearance  can  possibly  warrant 
in  any  conceivable  circumstance. 

Mere  feminine  clamour  was  silenced  by  Brasset  trans- 
formed. His  blue  eyes  glowed,  his  cheeks  grew  rosier, 
each  particular  hair  of  his  perfectly  charming  little 
blond  moustache,  trimmed  by  Truefitt  once  a  fortnight, 
stood  up  on  end  like  quills  upon  the  fretful  porpentine. 
In  lieu  of  pink  abasement  was  tawny  denunciation. 

"I'll  admit,  Arbuthnot,"  said  the  Man  of  Blood  and 
Iron,  "I  looked  at  the  woman  as  no  man  ought  to  look  at 
a  lady." 

"Didn't  you  say  'damn,'  Lord  Brasset?"  piped  a 
demure  seeker  after  knowledge. 


24  MRS.    FITZ 

"I  may  have  done,  Mrs.  Arbuthnot,  I  admit  I  may 
have  done." 

"I  think  that  ought  to  go  down  on  the  depositions," 
said  I,  with  an  approximation  to  the  manner  of  my 
uncle,  the  judge,  that  was  very  tolerable  for  an  ama- 
teur. 

"I  honour  you  for  it,  Lord  Brasset.  Don't  you, 
Mary?" 

"Endeavour  not  to  embarrass  the  witness,"  said  I. 
"Go  on,  Brasset." 

"Brasset,  here's  your  beer,"  said  Jodey  rising  from 
the  table  and  personally  handing  the  Burton  brew  with 
vast  solemnity. 

"I  may  have  damned  her  eyes,"  proceeded  the  witness, 
"or  I  mayn't  have  done.  You  see,  she  was  within  two 
inches  of  the  old  gal,  and  I  may  have  lost  my  head  for 
a  bit.  I'll  admit  that  no  man  ought  to  damn  the  eyes  of 
a  lady.  Mind,  I  don't  say  I  did.  And  yet  I  don't  say  I 
didn't.  It  all  happened  before  you  could  say  'knife,' 
and  I'll  admit  I  was  rattled." 

"The  witness  admits  he  was  rattled,"  said  I. 

"So  would  you  have  been,  old  son,"  the  witness  con- 
tinued magniloquently.  "Within  two  inches,  upon  my 
oath." 

"Were  there  reprisals  on  the  part  of  the  lady  whose 
eyes  you  had  damned  in  a  moment  of  mental  duress?" 

"Rather.     She  damned  mine  in  Dutch." 

Sensation. 

"How  did  you  know  it  was  Dutch,  Lord  Brasset?" 
piped  a  seeker  of  knowledge. 

"By  the  behaviour  of  the  hounds,  Mrs.  Arbuthnot." 


CASE  FOR  THE  PROSECUTION  25 

"How  did  they  behave?" 
"The  beggars  bolted." 
Sensation. 

"My  aunt,"  said  the  occupant  of  the  breakfast  table 
with  solemn  irrelevance. 

"So  would  you,"  said  the  noble  Master.  "I  never  heard 
anything  like  it.  In  my  opinion  there  is  no  language 
like  Dutch  when  it  comes  to  cursing.  And  then  before 
I  could  blink,  up  went  her  hand,  and  she  gave  me  one 
over  the  head  with  her  crop." 
Sensation. 

"Upon  my  solemn  word  of  honour.     I  don't  mind 
shewing  the  mark  to  anybody." 
"Where  is  it,  Lord  Brasset?" 

Mrs.  Arbuthnot  rose  from  her  chair  in  the  ecstatic 
pursuit  of  first  hand  information.  Her  eyes  were  wide 
and  glowing  like  those  of  her  small  daughter,  Miss  Lu- 
cinda,  when  she  hears  the  story  of  "The  Three  Bears." 
"Shew  me  the  scar,  Reggie,"  said  a  Minerva-like 
voice. 

"Let's  see  it,  Brasset,"  said  the  occupant  of  the  break- 
fast table,  kicking  over  a  piece  of  Chippendale  of  the 
best  period  and  incidentally  breaking  the  back  of  it. 

The  somewhat  melodramatic  investigation  of  a  thick 
layer  of  Rowland's  Macassar  oil  and  a  thin  layer  of 
fair  hair  disclosed  an  unmistakable  weal  immediately 
above  the  left  temple  of  the  noble  martyr  in  the  cause  of 
public  duty. 

"If  it  don't  beat  cockfighting !"  said  Jodey  in  a  tone 
of  undisguised  admiration. 

"If  it  hadn't  been  for  the  rim  of  my  cap,"  said  the 


26  MRS.    FITZ 

noble  martyr  in  response  to  the  public  enthusiasm,  "it 
must  have  laid  my  head  clean  open." 

"In  my  opinion,"  said  Mary  Catesby,  speaking  ex 
cathedra,  "that  woman  is  a  perfect  devil.  Reggie,  if 
you  only  shew  firmness  you  can  count  upon  support. 
They  may  stand  that  sort  of  thing  in  a  Continental 
circus,  but  we  don't  stand  it  in  the  Crackanthorpe 
Hunt." 

"Firmness,  Brasset,"  said  I,  anxiously  like  all  the 
world,  to  echo  the  oracle. 

The  little  blond  moustache  was  subjected  to  inhuman 
treatment. 

"It's  all  very  well,  you  know,  but  what's  the  use  of 
being  firm  with  a  person  who  is  just  as  firm  as  yourself?" 

The  Great  Lady  snorted. 

"For  three  years,  Reggie,  you  have  filled  a  difficult 
office  passably  well.  Don't  let  a  little  thing  like  this  be 
your  undoing." 

"All  very  well,  Mrs  Catesby,  but  I  can't  hit  her  over 
the  head,  can  I  ?" 

"No,  but  what  about  Fitz?"  said  a  voice  from  the 
breakfast  table. 

'Ye-es,  I  hadn't  thought  of  that." 

"And  I  shouldn't  think  of  it  if  I  were  you,"  said  I 
cordially.  "Fitz  with  all  his  errors  is  a  heftier  chap 
than  you  are,  my  son." 

Brasset's  jaw  dropped  doubtfully — it  is  quite  a  good 
jaw,  by  the  way. 

"Practise  the  left  a  bit,  Brasset,"  was  the  advice  of 
the  breakfast  table.  "I  know  a  chap  in  Jermyn  Street 
who  has  had  lessons  from  Burns.  We  might  trot  up  and 


CASE  FOR  THE  PROSECUTION  27 

see  him  after  lunch.  Bring  a  Bradshaw,  Parkins.  And 
I  think  we  had  better  send  a  wire." 

"I  wasn't  so  bad  with  my  left  when  I  was  up  at  Trin- 
ity," said  Brasset. 

Mrs.  Arbuthnot  shuddered  audibly.  She  has  long 
been  an  out  and  out  admirer  of  the  noble  Master's  nose. 
Certainly  its  contour  has  great  elegance  and  refinement. 

"Brasset,"  said  I,  "let  me  urge  you  not  to  listen  to 
evil  communications.  If  you  were  Burns  himself  you 
would  do  well  to  play  very  lightly  with  Fitz.  He  was 
my  fag  at  school,  and  although  sometimes  there  was  oc- 
casion to  visit  him  with  an  ash  plant  or  a  toasting  fork 
in  the  manner  prescribed  by  the  house  regulations  at 
that  ancient  seat  of  learning,  I  shouldn't  advise  you  or 
anybody  else  to  undertake  a  scheme  of  personal  chastise- 
ment." 

"Certainly  not,  Reggie,"  said  Mary  Catesby,  in  re- 
sponse to  Mrs.  Arbuthnot's  imploring  gaze.  "Odo  is 
perfectly  right.  Besides  you  must  behave  like  a  gentle- 
man. It  is  the  woman  with  whom  you  must  deal." 

"Well,  I  can't  hit  her,  can  I?"  said  Brasset  plain- 
tively. 

"If  a  cove's  wife  hit  me  over  the  head  with  a  crop," 
said  the  voice  of  youth,  "I  should  want  to  hit  the  cove 
that  had  the  wife  that  hit  me,  and  so  would  Odo.  I  see 
there's  a  train  at  two  fifteen  gets  to  town  at  five." 

Brasset's  eyes  are  as  softly,  translucently  blue  as 
those  of  Miss  Lucinda,  but  in  them  was  the  light  of  bat- 
tle. He  no  longer  tugged  at  his  upper  lip,  but  stroked 
it  gently.  To  those  conversant  with  these  mysteries, 
this  portent  was  sinister. 


28  MRS.    FITZ 

"Is  Genee  on  at  the  Empire?"  said  he. 

"Parkins  knows,"  said  Jodey. 

Parkins  did  know. 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  said  that  peerless  factotum,  "she  is." 

In  parenthesis,  I  ought  to  mention  that  Parkins  is 
the  piece  de  resistance  of  our  modest  establishment. 
Not  only  is  he  highly  accomplished  in  all  the  polite  arts 
practised  by  man,  but  also  he  is  a  walking  compendium 
of  exact  information. 

"How's  this?"  said  Jodey,  proceeding  to  read  aloud 
the  telegram  he  had  composed  with  studious  care.  "Dine 
self  and  pal  Romano's  7.30.  Empire  afterwards.  Book 
three  stalls  in  centre." 

"Wouldn't  the  side  be  better?"  said  Brasset.  "Then 
you  are  out  of  the  draught." 

Before  this  important  correction  could  be  made  Mary 
Catesby  lifted  her  voice  in  all  its  natural  majesty. 

"Reginald  Philip  Horatio,"  said  the  most  august  of 
her  sex,  "as  one  who  dressed  dolls  and  composed  hymns 
with  your  poor  dear  mother  before  she  made  her  im- 
prudent marriage,  I  forbid  you  absolutely  to  fight  with 
such  a  man  as  Nevil  Fitzwaren.  It  is  not  seemly,  it  is 
not  Christian,  and  Nevil  Fitzwaren  is  a  far  more  power- 
ful man  than  yourself." 

"Science  will  beat  brute  force  at  any  hour  of  the  day 
or  night,"  was  the  opinion  of  the  breakfast  table. 

Mrs.  Catesby  fixed  the  breakfast  table  with  her  in- 
vincible north  eye. 

"Joseph,  pray  hold  your  tongue.  This  is  very  wrong 
advice  you  are  giving  to  a  man  who  is  rather  older  and 
quite  as  foolish  as  yourself." 


CASE  FOR  THE  PROSECUTION  29 

The  Bayard  of  the  breakfast  table  rebutted  the  in- 
dictment. 

"The  advice  is  sound  enough,"  said  he.  "My  pal  in 
Jermyn  Street  has  won  no  end  of  pots  as  a  middle  weight 
and  he'll  soon  have  a  go  at  the  heavies  now  he's  taken 
to  supping  at  the  Savoy.  He'll  put  Brasset  all  right. 
He's  clever  as  daylight,  a  pupil  of  Burns.  I  tell  you 
what,  Mrs.  C.,  if  Brasset  leads  off  with  a  left  and  a  right 
and  follows  up  with  a  half -arm  hook  on  the  point,  in  my 
opinion  he'll  have  a  walk  over." 

"Reggie,  I  forbid  you  absolutely,"  said  the  early  col- 
laborator with  the  noble  Master's  mother.  "It  is  so  un- 
civilised ;  besides,  if  Nevil  Fitzwaren  happened  to  be  the 
first  to  lead  off  with  a  half -arm  hook  on  the  point,  we 
should  probably  require  a  new  master.  And  that  would 
be  so  awkward.  It  was  always  a  maxim  of  my  dear 
father's  that  foxes  were  the  only  things  that  profited  by 
a  change  of  mastership  in  the  middle  of  December." 

"Your  dear  father  was  right,  Mary,"  said  I  gravely. 

"Dear  father  was  infallible.  But  seriously,  Reggie, 
if  anything  happened  to  you  we  should  really  have  no- 
body to  take  the  hounds  now  that  for  some  obscure  rea- 
son they  have  made  Odo  a  member  of  Parliament." 

"If  a  cove's  wife  hit  me,"  came  the  refrain  from  the 
breakfast  table  in  a  kind  of  drone,  "I  should  want  to 
hit  the  cove  that  had  the  wife  that  hit  me.  See  that  this 
wire  is  sent,  Parkins,  and  tell  Kelly  that  I  am  running 
up  to  town  by  the  2.15  and  shall  stay  the  night." 

"Jody,  don't  be  a  fool,"  said  I.  "Brasset,  I  want  to 
say  this.  I  hope  you  are  listening,  Mary,  and  you  too, 


30  MRS.    FITZ 

Irene.  Where  Fitz  and  his  wife  are  concerned,  we  have 
all  got  to  play  lightly." 

I  summoned  all  the  earnestness  of  which  I  am  capable. 
Even  Mary  Catesby  was  impressed  by  such  an  air  of 
conviction. 

"I  fail  to  see,"  said  she,  "why  we  should  be  so  espe- 
cially considerate  of  the  feelings  of  the  Fitzwarens,  when 
they  are  the  last  to  consider  the  feelings  of  others." 

"You  can  take  it  from  me,  Mary,  that  Fitz  and  his 
wife  are  not  to  be  judged  altogether  by  ordinary  stand- 
ards. They  are  extraordinary  people." 

"Tell  me  what  you  mean  by  the  term  extraordinary  ?" 
said  my  inquisitorial  spouse. 

"Does  it  really  require  explanation,  mon  enfant?" 

"It  means,"  said  the  plain-spoken  Mary,  "that  Nevil 
Fitzwaren  is  an  extraordinary  reckless  and  dissolute 
type  of  fellow,  and  that  Mrs.  Nevil  is  an  extraordinarily 
unpleasant  type  of  woman." 

I  am  the  first  to  admit  that  that  ineffectual  thing, 
the  mere  human  male,  is  not  of  the  calibre  openly  to  dis- 
sent from  a  considered  judgment  of  the  Great  Lady. 
But  to  the  amazement  of  men  and  doubtless  of  gods,  for 
once  in  a  way  her  opinion  was  publicly  challenged. 

You  could  have  heard  a  pin  drop  in  that  room  when 
the  occupant  of  the  breakfast  table  took  up  the  gage. 

"Fitz  is  a  bad  hat."  Joseph  Jocelyn  De  Vere  re- 
moved his  pipe  from  his  lips.  "Everybody  knows  it. 
But  Mrs.  Fitz  is  a  thousand  times  too  good  for  the  cove 
that's  married  her." 

Such  an  expression  of  opinion  left  his  sister  open- 


CASE  FOR  THE  PROSECUTION  31 

mouthed.  Mary  Catesby  lowered  her  chin  and  her  eye- 
lashes at  an  indiscretion  so  portentous. 

"The  Fitzwarens,"  said  the  great  authority,  "are  a 
very  old  family,  and  Nevil  has  the  education,  if  not  the 
instincts,  of  a  gentleman,  but  as  for  this  circus  rider  he 
has  brought  from  Vienna,  she  has  neither  the  birth,  the 
education  nor  the  instincts  of  a  lady." 

This  tremendous  pronouncement  would  have  put  most 
people  out  of  action  at  once.  But  here  was  a  man  of 
mettle. 

"She's  tophole,"  said  that  Bayard.  "I've  never  seen 
her  equal.  If  you  ask  my  opinion  there's  not  a  chap  in 
the  Hunt  who  is  fit  to  open  a  gate  for  Mrs.  Fitz." 

The  young  fellow  had  fairly  got  the  bit  between  his 
teeth  and  no  mistake. 

"One  doesn't  ask  your  opinion,  Joseph,"  said  Mary 
Catesby,  with  a  bluntness  that  would  have  felled  a 
bullock.  "Why  should  one,  pray?  I  know  no  person 
less  fitter  to  express  an  opinion  on  any  subject." 

"I've  followed  her  line  anyhow,  and  I've  been  proud 
to  follow  it.  She  can  ride  cunning,  too,  mind  you.  I've 
never  seen  her  equal  anywhere,  and  don't  suppose  I  ever 
shall." 

"No  one  questions  her  riding.  She  was  born  and 
bred  in  a  circus.  But  a  more  unmitigated  female  bound- 
er never  jumped  through  a  hoop  in  pink  tights." 

It  was  below  the  belt,  and  not  only  Jodey  but  Brasset, 
who,  inefficient  as  he  is  in  most  things,  is  unmistakably  a 
sportsman  of  the  first  class,  also  felt  it  to  be  so. 

"Mrs.  Fitz  has  foreign  ways,"  said  the  noble  Master, 


32  MRS.    FITZ 

"but  she  can  be  as  nice  as  anybody  when  she  likes.    I've 
known  her  be  awfully  civil." 

"She  is  not  without  charm,"  said  I,  feeling  that  it 
was  up  to  me  to  play  up  a  bit. 

"She's  it,"  said  Jodey.  "She's  the  sort  of  woman  that 
would  make  a  chap " 

"Shoot  himself,"  chirrupped  the  noble  Master. 

Disgust  and  indignation  are  mild  terms  to  apply  to 
Mrs.  Catesby's  wrath. 

"Pair  of  boobies !  You  are  as  bad  as  he  is,  Reggie. 
But  it  was  always  so  like  your  poor  mother  to  take 
things  lying  down." 

"Oh,  come  now,  Mrs.  Catesby,  haven't  I  said  all 
along  that  she  had  no  right  to  hit  me  over  the  head  with 
her  crop  ?" 

"The  saftest  place  in  which  to  hit  you,  anyway."  The 
Great  Lady  was  in  peril  of  losing  her  temper. 

The  question  of  Mrs.  Fitz  was  a  very  vexed  one  in  the 
Crackanthorpe  Hunt.  It  had  already  divided  that 
proud  institution  into  two  sections ;  i.e.,  the  thick  and 
thin  supporters  of  that  lady  and  those  who  would  not 
have  her  at  any  price.  It  need  excite  no  remark  in  the 
minds  of  the  judicious,  that  the  male  followers  of  the 
Hunt,  almost  to  a  man,  admired  as  much  as  they  dared 
in  the  circumstances,  a  very  remarkable  personality; 
while  its  feminine  patrons  with  a  unanimity  quite  with- 
out precedent  in  that  august  body,  were  conspiring  to 
humiliate  as  deeply  as  it  lay  in  their  power,  a  personage 
who  had  set  three  counties  by  the  ears. 

The  Great  Lady  proceeded  to  temper  her  wrath  with 
some  extremely  dignified  pathos. 


CASE  FOR  THE  PROSECUTION  33 

"It  is  a  mystery  to  me,"  said  she,  "how  men  who  call 
themselves  gentlemen  can  attempt  to  defend  a  creature 
who  offered  a  public  affront  to  the  Duke  and  dear 
Evelyn." 

"I  presume  you  mean  the  affair  of  the  bazaar?" 
said  I. 

"I  do ;  a  lamentable  fracas.  Dear  Evelyn  never  left 
her  bed  for  a  fortnight." 

"Dear  me !  Are  we  to  understand  that  actual  physi- 
cal violence  was  offered  to  her  Grace?" 

"Don't  be  childish,  Odo!  I  was  present  and  saw 
everything,  and  I  can  answer  for  it  that  no  such  thing 
as  violence  was  used." 

"Then  why  did  the  great  lady  take  to  her  bed?" 

"Through  sheer  vexation.  And  really  one  doesn't 
wonder.  It  was  nothing  less  than  a  public  insult." 

"Tell  me,  Mary,  precisely  in  three  words  what  did 
happen  at  the  bazaar.  All  the  world  agrees  that  it  was 
a  desperate  affair,  yet  nobody  seems  to  know  exactly 
what  it  was  that  occurred." 

Mrs.  Catesby  enveloped  herself  in  that  mantle  of 
high  diplomacy  that  she  is  pleased  so  often  to  assume. 

"No,  my  dear  Odo,  I  don't  think  it  would  be  kind  to 
the  Duke  and  dear  Evelyn  to  say  actually  what  did  oc- 
cur. To  my  mind  it  is  not  a  thing  to  be  spoken  of,  but 
I  may  tell  you  this — it  has  been  mentioned  at  Windsor !" 

It  was  clear  from  the  Great  Lady's  demeanour  that 
at  this  announcement  we  were  all  expected  to  cross  our- 
selves. Only  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  did  so,  however. 

"Oh,  Mary !"    The  china  blue  eyes  swam  with  ecstasy. 

"If  you  wish  to  convey  to  us,  my  dear  Mary,"  said  I, 


34  MRS.    FITZ 

"that  a  royal  commission  has  been  appointed  to  inquire 
into  the  subject,  all  experience  tends  to  teach  that  there 
will  be  less  prospect  than  ever  of  finding  out  what  hap- 
pened at  the  bazaar." 

"Tell  us  what  really  did  happen  at  the  bazaar,  Mrs. 
Catesby,"  said  Brasset.  "I  am  sorry  I  wasn't  there." 

"No,  Reggie,  I  am  much  too  fond  of  dear  Evelyn  to 
disclose  the  truth  to  a  living  soul.  But  I  may  tell  you 
this.  The  incident  was  far  worse  than  has  been  re- 
ported." 

"I  understand,"  said  I,  solemnly  lying,  at  the  in- 
stance of  the  histrionic  sense,  "that  Windsor  earnestly 
desired  that  the  incident,  whatever  it  was,  should  be 
minimised  as  much  as  possible." 

The  bait  was  gobbled,  hook  and  all. 

"How  did  you  come  to  hear  that,  Odo?  Even  7 
was  not  told  that." 

"Who  told  you  that,  Odo?"  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  twit- 
tered breathlessly. 

"There  was  a  rumour  the  other  day  in  the  House." 

"The  idle  gossip  of  the  lobbies,"  the  Great  Lady  was 
moved  to  affirm. 

But  we  were  straying  away  from  the  point.  And  the 
point  was,  in  what  manner  was  public  decency  to  mark 
its  sense  of  outrage  at  the  conduct  of  Mrs.  Fitz. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  MIDDLE  COURSE 

ALTHOUGH  so  many  conflicting  rumours  were  abroad 
as  to  the  unparalleled  affront  that  had  been  offered  to 
the  Strawberry  Leaf — some  accounts  had  it  that  "Dear 
Evelyn"  had  been  called  "a  cat"  within  the  hearing  of 
the  Mayor  and  other  civic  dignitaries  of  Middleham, 
while  others  were  pleased  to  affirm  that  she  had  had  her 
ears  boxed  before  the  eyes  of  the  horrified  reporter  for 
the  Advertiser — there  was  the  implicit  word  of  Brasset 
that  he  had  been  subjected  not  only  to  unchaste  ex- 
pressions in  a  foreign  tongue,  but  had  actually  been  in 
receipt  of  physical  violence  in  his  honourable  endeavour 
to  uphold  the  dignity  and  the  discipline  of  the  Crackan- 
thorpe  Hunt. 

I  hope  and  believe  I  am  a  lenient  judge  of  the  offences 
of  others — fellow  occupants  of  our  local  bench  delight 
to  tell  me  so — but  even  I  was  so  imbued  with  the  spirit 
of  the  meeting  as  to  allow  that  some  kind  of  official  notice 
ought  to  be  taken  of  the  outrageous  conduct  of  Mrs. 
Nevil  Fitzwaren.  From  the  first  hour  of  her  appear- 
ance among  us,  a  short  fifteen  months  ago,  she  had  gath- 
ered the  storm  clouds  of  controversy  about  her.  Almost 
as  soon  as  she  appeared  out  cubbing,  she  became  the 
most  discussed  person  in  the  shire.  Her  ways  were  un- 

35 


36  MRS.    FITZ 

mistakably  foreign  and  "unconventional ;"  and  certain- 
ly, in  the  saddle  and  out  of  it  her  personality  can  only 
be  described  as  a  little  overpowering. 

In  the  beginning  it  may  have  been  Fitz  himself  who 
contributed  as  much  as  anything  to  the  notoriety  of  his 
continental  wife.  Five  years  before,  the  only  surviving 
son  of  a  disreputable  father  had  let  the  house  of  his 
ancestors  in  a  state  of  gross  disrepair,  together  with  the 
paternal  acres,  to  a  City  magnate,  and  betook  himself, 
Heaven  alone  knew  where.  Wise  people,  however,  were 
more  than  willing  that  the  President  of  the  Destinies 
should  retain  the  sole  and  exclusive  possession  of  this 
information.  Nobody  had  the  least  desire  to  know 
where  Fitz  the  Younger,  unmistakable  scion  of  a  some- 
what deplorable  dynasty,  was  to  be  found,  except  per- 
haps, a  few  London  tradesmen,  who,  if  wise  men,  would 
be  sparing  of  their  tears.  They  might  have  been  hit 
so  much  harder  than  proved  to  be  the  case.  Wherever 
Fitz  had  gone,  those  who  knew  most  of  him  and  the 
stock  from  which  he  sprang,  devoutly  hoped  that  there 
he  would  stay. 

For  five  years  we  knew  him  not.  And  then  one  fine 
September  afternoon  he  turned  up  at  the  Grange  with 
a  motor  car  and  a  French  chauffeur  and  a  foreign  wife. 
It  may  not  seem  kind  to  say  so,  but  in  the  interests  of 
this  strange  but  over-true  tale,  it  is  well  to  state  clearly 
that  his  return  was  highly  disconcerting  to  all  sections 
of  the  community.  His  name  was  still  an  offence  in  the 
ears  of  an  obsequious  and  by  no  means  over-censorious 
countryside.  Rural  England  is  astonishingly  lenient 


THE  MIDDLE  COURSE  37 

"to  Squoire  and  his  relations,"  but  Master  Nevil  had 
proved  too  stiff  a  proposition  even  for  its  forbearance. 

Howbeit,  Fitz  had  hardly  been  a  week  at  his  ancestral 
home  with  his  foreign  wife  and  his  motor  car  when  there 
began  to  be  signs  of  a  rise  in  Fitzwaren  stock.  It  was 
bruited  abroad  that  he  was  paying  his  debts,  fulfilling 
long  neglected  obligations,  that  he  had  given  up  the 
bowl,  and  that,  in  a  word,  he  was  doing  his  best  to  clear 
a  pretty  black  record.  Indeed,  the  upward  tendency  of 
the  Fitzwaren  stock  was  so  well  maintained,  that  it  was 
decided  by  the  Committee  for  the  Maintenance  of  the 
Public  Decency  that  the  august  Mrs.  Catesby  should 
call  on  his  wife  and  so  pave  the  way  for  the  entente. 
After  all,  the  Fitzwarens  were  the  Fitzwarens,  and  our 
revered  Vicar — the  hardest  riding  parson  in  five  Coun- 
ties— clinched  the  matter  with  the  most  opposite  quota- 
tion from  Holy  Writ  in  which  he  has  ever  indulged. 

The  august  Mrs.  Catesby  bore  the  olive  branch  in 
the  form  of  a  couple  of  pieces  of  pasteboard  to  the 
Grange  in  due  course ;  Mrs.  Arbuthnot,  the  Vicar's  wife, 
Laura  Glendinning,  and  the  rank  and  file  of  the  cus- 
todians of  the  public  decency  followed  suit;  and  such 
an  atmosphere  of  the  best  type  of  Christian  mag- 
nanimity prevailed,  that  it  was  quite  on  the  tapis  that 
"dear  Evelyn"  herself,  the  Perpetual  President  and  Past 
Grand  Mistress  of  this  strenuous  society,  would  shoot  a 
card  at  the  Grange.  To  shew  that  this  is  not  the  idle 
gossip  of  an  empty  tale,  there  is  Mrs.  Catesby's  own 
declaration,  made  in  Mrs.  Arbuthnot's  own  drawing- 
room  in  the  presence  of  Laura  Glendinning  and  the  Vic- 
ar's wife,  "that  had  Mrs.  Fitz  only  been  presented  she 


38  MRS.    FITZ 

was  in  a  position  to  know  that  dear  Evelyn  would  have 
called  upon  her." 

That  was  the  hour  in  which  the  Fitzwaren  stock 
touched  its  zenith.  Thenceforward  there  was  a  fall  in 
price.  Nevertheless,  it  was  agreed  that  Fitz  was  a  re- 
formed character.  A  glass  of  beer  for  luncheon,  a  glass 
of  wine  for  dinner,  and  a  maximum  of  three  whiskies  and 
sodas  per  diem;  handsome  indemnity  paid  to  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  landlord  of  the  Fitzwaren  Arms ;  propitia- 
tion galore  to  persons  of  all  degrees  and  shades  of  opin- 
ion ;  appearance  with  the  ducal  party  at  the  Cockf  oster 
shoot ;  regular  attendance  at  Church  every  Sunday  fore- 
noon. Fitz  made  the  pace  so  hot  that  the  wise  declared 
it  could  not  possibly  last.  They  were  wrong,  however, 
as  the  wise  are  occasionally.  Fitz  had  more  staying 
power  than  friends  and  neighbours  were  prepared  to 
concede  to  the  son  of  his  father.  But  in  spite  of  all 
this,  once  the  slump  set  in,  it  continued  steadily. 

Those  who  had  known  Fitz  before  the  reformation 
were  not  slow  to  believe  that  it  was  no  strength  of  the 
inner  nature  that  had  rendered  him  a  vessel  of  grace.  It 
was  excessively  creditable,  of  course  to  the  black  sheep 
of  the  fold,  but  the  whole  merit  of  the  reclamation  be- 
longed not  to  the  prodigal,  but  to  the  nondescript  lady 
from  the  continent  who  had  not  been  presented  at  Court. 
The  depth  of  Fitz's  infatuation  for  that  unconven- 
tional creature  was  really  grotesque. 

To  the  merely  masculine  intelligence  it  would  have 
seemed  that  an  influence  so  beneficient  over  one  so  be- 
smirched as  poor  Fitz  must  have  counted  to  that  lady 
for  righteousness  on  the  high  court  scale.  But  the  Com- 


THE  MIDDLE  COURSE  39 

mittee  for  the  Maintenance  of  the  Public  Decency  came 
to  quite  another  conclusion.  The  mere  male  cannot  do 
better  than  give  in  extenso  the  Committee's  report  upon 
the  matter,  and  for  the  text  of  this  judicial  pearl  our 
thanks  are  due  to  the  august  Mrs.  Catesby. 

"If  she  had  been  Anybody,"  that  great  and  good 
woman  announced,  "one  would  have  felt  it  only  right 
to  encourage  Nevil  Fitzwaren  in  his  praiseworthy  ef- 
fort, but  as  dear  Evelyn  has  been  informed,  on  unim- 
peachable authority,  that  she  used  to  ride  bare-back  in 
a  circus  in  Vienna,  it  is  quite  clear  that  the  wretched 
fellow  is  in  the  toils  of  an  infatuation." 

After  this  finding  by  the  Committee,  holders  of  Fitz- 
waren stock  unloaded  quickly.  Yet  there  were  some  of 
these  spectators  who  were  loth  to  take  that  course.  Fitz, 
the  harum-scarum,  with  his  nails  trimmed,  was  a  less 
picturesque  figure  than  the  provincial  Don  Juan;  but 
there  were  those  who  were  not  slow  to  aver  that  the  fair 
equestrienne  he  had  had  the  audacity  to  import  from 
Vienna,  was  quite  the  most  romantic  figure  that  had  ever 
hunted  with  the  Crackanthorpe  Hounds. 

Doubtless  she  had  been  born  in  a  stable  and  reared 
upon  mare's  milk,  but  to  behold  her  mounted  upon  the 
strain  of  the  Godolphin  Arabian,  in  a  tall  hat,  military 
gauntlets  and  a  scarlet  coat  was  a  spectacle  that  few 
beholders  were  able  to  forget.  In  the  opinion  of  the 
Committee,  there  can  be  no  doubt  whatever  that  it 
hastened  the  end  of  the  Dowager.  The  old  lady  drove 
to  the  meet  at  the  Cross  Roads,  behind  her  fat  old 
ponies  and  her  fat  old  coachman  John  Timmins,  in  the 
full  enjoyment  of  all  her  faculties,  with  a  shrewd  wit, 


40  MRS.    FITZ 

an  easy  conscience  and  a  good  appetite,  took  one  glance 
at  Mrs.  Nevil  Fitzwaren,  told  John  Timmins  in  a  hoarse 
whisper  to  go  home  immediately ;  had  a  stroke  before 
she  arrived,  and  passed  away  without  regaining  con- 
sciousness, in  the  presence  of  her  spiritual,  her  medical 
and  legal  advisers. 

In  the  inflamed  state  of  the  public  mind,  it  was  neces- 
sary that  persons  of  moderate  views  should  be  wary. 
I  had  seen  Mrs.  Fitz  out  hunting,  and  in  this  place 
I  am  open  to  confess  that  I  was  sealed  of  the  tribe  of 
her  admirers.  Not  from  the  athletic  standpoint  merely, 
but  from  the  aesthetic  one.  Quite  a  young  woman 
with  superb  black  eyes  and  a  forest  of  raven  hair,  a  skin 
of  lustrous  olive,  a  nose  and  chin  of  extraordinary  deci- 
sion and  character,  a  more  imperiously  challenging  per- 
sonality I  cannot  remember  to  have  seen.  Professional 
Viennese  equestriennes  are  doubtless  a  race  apart.  They 
may  be  accustomed  to  exact  homage  from  their  world 
which  in  ours  is  reserved  more  or  less  for  the  "dear 
Evelyns"  and  their  compeers.  But  the  gaze  of  this 
haughty  queen  of  the  sawdust,  when  she  condescended 
to  exert  it,  was  the  most  direct  and  arresting  thing 
that  ever  exacted  tribute  from  the  English  male  or  flut- 
tered the  dovecotes  of  the  scandalised  English  female. 
Her  "what-pray-are-you-doing-on-the-earth?"  air  was 
so  vital  that  it  sent  a  thrill  through  the  veins.  Small 
wonder  was  it  that  the  hapless  Fitz  had  struggled  so 
gamely  to  pull  himself  together.  She  was  a  woman  to 
make  a  man  or  mar  him.  As  Fitz  was  marred  already, 
the  sphere  of  her  activities  were  limited  accordingly. 

Like  most  men  of  moderate  views,  at  heart  I  own  to 


THE  MIDDLE  COURSE  41 

being  a  bit  of  a  coward.  At  any  rate  it  would  have 
taken  a  wild  horse  to  drag  the  admission  from  me  that 
I  was  an  out  and  out  admirer  of  The  Stormy  Petrel, 
as  with  rare  felicity  the  vicar  of  the  parish  had  chris- 
tened her.  For  by  this  time  our  little  republic  was 
cloven  in  twain.  There  were  the  Mrs.  Fitzites,  her  hum- 
ble admirers  and  willing  slaves,  whose  sex  you  will  easily 
guess;  and  there  were  the  Anti-Mrs.  Fitzites,  ruthless 
adversaries  who  had  sworn  to  have  her  blood,  or  failing 
that,  since  Atalanta  was  an  amazon  indeed,  to  make  the 
place  so  hot  for  her,  that  in  the  words  of  my  friend  Mrs. 
Josiah  P.  Perkins,  "she  would  have  to  quit." 

How  to  dislodge  her,  that  was  the  problem  for  the 
ladies  of  the  Crackanthorpe  Hunt.  It  was  in  the  quest 
of  a  solution  that  the  illustrious  Mrs.  Catesby  had 
honoured  us  with  a  morning  call. 

"Odo  Arbuthnot,"  said  that  notable  woman,  "it  is 
my  intention  to  speak  plainly.  Mrs.  Fitz  must  leave  the 
neighbourhood.  We  look  to  you,  as  a  married  man,  a 
father  of  a  family  and  a  county  member,  to  devise  a 
means  for  her  removal." 

"Issue  a  writ,"  said  I.  "That  seems  the  most 
straightforward  course.  If  our  assaulted  and  battered 
friend,  Brasset,  will  swear  an  information,  I  shall  be 
glad  to  sign  the  warrant." 

"Do  you  think  she  could  be  taken  to  prison?"  said 
Mrs.  Arbuthnot,  hopefully. 

"Don't  attempt  to  beg  the  question."  The  Great 
Lady  was  not  to  be  diverted  from  the  scent.  "Be  more 
manly.  We  expect  public  spirit  from  you.  Certainly 
this  business  is  extremely  disagreeable,  but  it  does  not 


42  MRS.    FITZ 

excuse  your  pusillanimity.  To  my  mind,  your  attitude 
all  along  has  suggested  that  you  are  trying  to  run  with 
the  hare  and  to  hunt  with  the  hounds." 

This  was  a  terrible  home-thrust  for  a  confirmed  lover 
of  the  middle-course.  I  hope  I  am  not  wholly  lacking  in 
spirit,  but  such  a  charge  was  not  easy  to  rebut.  While  I 
assumed  a  statesmanlike  part,  if  only  to  gain  a  little 
time  in  which  to  cover  my  exposed  position,  my  relation 
by  marriage  with  a  daring  which  was  certainly  remark- 
able in  one  who  is  not  by  nature  a  thruster,  took  up  the 
cudgels  yet  again. 

"If  I  were  you,  Odo,"  said  he,  "I  should  let  'em  do 
their  own  dirty  work." 

I  felt  Mary  Catesby's  glance  flash  past  me  like  the 
lightning  of  heaven. 

"Dirty  work,  Joseph.     I  demand  an  explanation." 

"I  call  it  dirty,"  said  that  gladiator.  "I  like  things 
straightforrard  myself.  If  you  think  a  cove  is  askin* 
for  trouble  hand  it  out  to  him  personally.  Don't  set  on 
others." 

Before  the  woman  of  impregnable  virtue  to  whom  this 
gem  of  morality  was  addressed,  could  visit  the  Bayard  at 
the  breakfast  table  according  to  his  merit,  we  found 
ourselves  suddenly  precipitated  into  the  realms  of 
drama. 

For  this  was  the  moment  in  which  I  became  aware 
that  Parkins  was  hovering  about  my  chair  and  that  a 
sensational  announcement  was  on  his  lips. 

"Mr.  Fitzwaren  desires  to  see  you,  sir,  on  most  urgent 
business." 

The  effect  was  electrical.     Mary  Catesby  suspended 


THE  MIDDLE  COURSE  43 

her  indictment  with  a  gesture  like  Boadicea's,  queenly 
but  ferocious.  Brasset's  pink  perplexity  approximated 
to  a  shade  of  green ;  the  eyes  of  the  Madam  were  like 
moons — in  the  circumstances  a  little  poetic  license  is 
surely  to  be  pardoned — while  as  for  the  demeanour  of 
the  narrator  of  this  ower  true  tale,  I  can  answer  for  it 
that  it  was  one  of  total  discomfiture. 

"Mr.  Fitzwaren  here?"  were  my  first  incredulous 
words. 

"I  have  shewn  him  into  the  library,  sir,"  said  Parkins 
solemnly. 

"You  cannot  see  him,  Odo,"  said  the  despot  of  our 
household.  "He  must  not  come  here." 

"Important  business,  Parkins?"  said  I. 

"Most  urgent  business,  sir." 

"Highly  mysterious !"  Mrs.  Catesby  was  pleased  to 
affirm. 

Highly  mysterious  the  coming  of  Nevil  Fitzwaren 
certainly  was.  A  moment's  reflection  convinced  me  of 
the  need  of  appeasing  the  general  curiosity.  I  took 
my  way  to  the  library  with  many  speculations  rising 
in  my  mind.  Nothing  was  further  from  my  expectation 
than  to  be  consulted  by  Nevil  Fitzwaren  on  urgent 
business. 


CHAPTER  V 

ABOUNDS  IN  SENSATION 

ASTONISHED  as  I  was  by  the  coming  of  such  a  visitor, 
the  appearance  and  the  manner  of  that  much-discussed 
personage  did  nothing  to  lessen  my  interest. 

I  found  him  pacing  the  room  in  a  state  of  agitation. 
His  face  was  haggard,  his  eyes  were  bloodshot,  he  was 
unkempt  and  almost  piteous  to  look  upon.  And  yet 
more  strangely  his  open  overcoat  which  his  distress 
could  not  suffer  to  keep  buttoned,  disclosed  a  rumpled 
shirt  front,  a  tie  askew  and  a  dinner  jacket  which  evi- 
dently had  been  donned  the  evening  before. 

"Hallo,  Fitz,"  said  I,  as  unconcernedly  as  I  could. 

He  did  not  answer  me  but  immediately  closed  the  door 
of  the  room.  Somehow,  the  action  gave  me  a  thrill. 

"There  is  no  possibility  of  our  being  overheard?"  he 
said  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

"None  whatever.  Let  me  help  you  off  with  your 
coat.  Then  sit  down  in  that  chair  next  the  fire  and  have 
a  drink." 

"Fitz  submitted,  doubtless  under  a  sense  of  compul- 
sion. My  four  years'  seniority  at  school  had  generally 
enabled  me  to  get  my  way  with  him.  It  was  rather 
painful  to  witness  the  effort  the  unfortunate  fellow 
put  forth  to  pull  himself  together ;  and  when  I  measured 

44 


ABOUNDS  IN  SENSATION  45 

out  a  pretty  stiff  brandy  and  soda  his  refusal  of  it  was 
distinctly  poignant. 

"I  oughtn't  to  have  it,  old  chap,"  he  said  with  his 
wild  eyes  looking  into  mine  like  those  of  a  dumb  animal. 
"It  doesn't  do,  you  know." 

"Drink  it  straight  off  at  once,"  said  I,  "and  do  as 
you  are  told." 

Fitz  did  so  with  reluctance.  The  effect  upon  him 
was  what  I  had  not  foreseen.  His  haggard  wildness 
yielded  quite  suddenly  to  an  outburst  of  tears.  He 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and  wept  in  a  painfully 
overwrought  manner. 

I  waited  in  silence  for  this  outburst  to  pass. 

"I've  been  scouring  the  country  since  nine  o'clock 
last  night,"  he  said,  "and  I  feel  like  going  out  of  my 
mind." 

"What's  the  trouble,  old  son?"  said  I,  taking  a  chair 
beside  him. 

"They've  got  my  wife." 

"Whom  do  you  mean  by  'they'?" 

"I  can't,  I  mustn't  tell  you,"  said  Fitz  excitedly,  "but 
they  have  got  her,  and — and  I  expect  she  is  dead  by 
now." 

Words  as  wild  as  these  to  the  accompaniment  of  that 
overwrought  demeanour  suggested  an  acute  form  of 
mental  disturbance  only  too  clearly. 

"You  had  better  tell  me  everything,"  said  I  persua- 
sively. "Perhaps  I  might  be  able  to  help  a  little.  Two 
heads  are  better  than  one,  you  know." 

I  must  confess  that  I  had  no  great  hope  of  being 
able  to  help  the  unlucky  fellow  very  materially,  but 


46  MRS.   FITZ 

somewhat  to  my  surprise  he  answered  in  a  perfectly 
rational  manner. 

"I  have  come  here  with  the  intention  of  telling  you 
everything.  I  must  have  help  and  you  are  the  only 
friend  I've  got." 

"One  of  many,"  said  I,  lying  cordially. 

"It's  true,"  said  Fitz.  "The  only  one.  Like  that 
chap  in  the  Bible,  the  hand  of  every  man  is  against 
me.  I  deserve  it;  I  know  I've  not  played  the  game; 
but  now  I  must  have  somebody  to  stand  by  me  and  I've 
come  to  you." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "that  is  no  more  than  you  would 
do  by  me  in  similar  circumstances." 

"You  don't  mean  that,"  said  Fitz  with  an  expression 
of  keen  misery.  "But  you  are  a  genuine  chap,  all  the 
same." 

"Let's  hear  the  trouble." 

"The  trouble  is  this,"  said  Fitz,  and  as  he  spoke  the 
look  of  wildness  returned  to  his  eyes.  "My  wife  went 
in  the  car  to  do  some  shopping  at  Middleham  at  three 
o'clock  yesterday  afternoon  expecting  to  be  back  at 
five,  and  neither  she  nor  the  car  has  returned." 

"And  nothing  has  been  heard  of  her  ?" 

"Not  a  word." 

"Had  she  a  chauffeur?" 

"Yes,  a  Frenchman  of  the  name  of  Moins  whom  we 
picked  up  in  Paris." 

"I  suppose  you  have  communicated  with  the  police?" 

"No;  you  see  the  whole  affair  must  be  kept  as  dark 
as  possible." 


ABOUNDS  IN  SENSATION  47 

"They  are  certainly  the  people  to  help  you,  particu- 
larly if  you  have  reason  to  suspect  foul  play." 

"There  is  every  reason  to  suspect  it.  I  am  afraid 
she  is  already  beyond  the  help  of  the  police." 

"Why  should  you  think  that?" 

Fitz  hesitated.    His  distraught  air  was  very  painful. 

"Arbuthnot,"  said  he,  slowly  and  reluctantly,  "be- 
fore I  tell  you  everything  I  must  pledge  you  to  absolute 
secrecy.  Other  lives,  other  interests,  more  important 
than  yours  and  mine  are  involved  in  this." 

I  gave  the  pledge,  and  in  so  doing  was  impressed  by 
a  depth  of  responsibility  in  the  manner  of  my  visitor, 
of  which  I  should  hardly  have  expected  it  to  be  capable. 

"Did  you  see  in  the  papers  last  evening,  that  there 
had  been  an  attempt  on  the  life  of  the  King  of  Illyria?" 

"I  read  it  in  this  morning's  paper." 

"It  will  surprise  you  to  learn,"  said  Fitz,  striving  for 
a  calmness  he  could  not  achieve,  "that  my  wife  is  the 
only  child  of  Ferdinand  XII,  King  of  Illyria.  She  is 
therefore,  Crown  Princess  and  Heiress  Apparent  to  the 
oldest  monarchy  in  Europe." 

"It  certainly  does  surprise  me,"  was  the  only  re- 
joinder that  for  the  moment  I  could  make. 

"I  want  help  and  I  want  advice;  I  feel  that  I  hardly 
dare  do  anything  on  my  own  initiative.  You  see  it  is 
most  important  that  the  world  at  large  should  know 
nothing  of  this." 

"Why,  may  I  ask?" 

"There  are  two  parties  at  war  in  Illyria.  There  is 
the  King's  party,  the  supporters  of  the  monarchy,  and 
there  is  the  Republican  party,  which  has  made  three 


48  MRS.    FITZ 

attempts  on  the  life  of  Ferdinand  XII  and  two  on  that 
of  his  daughter." 

"But  I  assume,  my  dear  fellow,  that  the  whereabouts 
in  England  of  the  Crown  Princess  are  known  to  her 
father  the  King?" 

"No;  and  it  is  essential  that  he  should  remain  in 
ignorance.  Our  elopement  from  Illyria  was  touch  and 
go.  Ferdinand  has  moved  heaven  and  earth  to  find 
out  where  she  is,  because  she  has  been  formally  be- 
trothed to  a  Russian  Grand  Duke,  and  if  she  does 
not  return  to  Blaenau  he  will  not  be  able  to  secure  the 
succession." 

"Depend  upon  it,"  said  I,  "the  Crown  Princess  is 
on  the  way  to  Blaenau.  Not  of  her  own  free  will  of 
course.  But  his  Majesty's  agents  have  managed  to 
play  the  trick." 

"You  may  be  right,  Arbuthnot.  But  one  thing  is 
certain;  my  poor  brave  Sonia  will  never  return  to 
Blaenau  alive." 

Fitz  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  tragically. 

"She  promised  that,  you  know,  in  case  anything  of 
this  kind  happened,  and  I  consented  to  it."  The  sim- 
plicity of  his  utterance  had  in  it  a  certain  grandeur 
which  few  would  have  expected  to  find  in  a  man  with 
the  reputation  of  Nevil  Fitzwaren.  "Everybody  doesn't 
believe  in  this  sort  of  thing,  Arbuthnot,  but  I  and  my 
princess  do.  She  will  never  lie  in  the  arms  of  another. 
God  help  her,  brave  and  noble  and  unlucky  soul !" 

This  was  not  the  Fitz  the  world  had  always  known. 
I  suddenly  recalled  the  flaxen-haired,  odd,  intense,  some- 
what twisted,  wholly  unhappy  creature  who  had  ren- 


ABOUNDS  IN  SENSATION  49 

dered  me  willing  service  in  our  boyhood.  I  had  always 
enjoyed  the  reputation  in  our  house  at  school  that  I 
alone,  and  none  other,  could  manage  Fitz.  I  recalled 
his  passion  for  the  "Morte  d'Arthur,"  his  angular 
vehemence,  his  sombre  docility.  In  those  distant  days 
I  had  felt  there  was  something  in  him ;  and  now  in  what 
seemed  curiously  poignant  circumstances  there  came  the 
fulfilment  of  the  prophecy. 

"Let  us  assume,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  I,  making  an 
attempt  to  be  of  practical  use  in  a  situation  of  almost 
ludicrous  difficulty,  "that  it  is  not  her  father  who  has 
abducted  the  Princess  Sonia.  Let  us  take  it  to  be  the 
other  side,  the  Republican  party." 

"It  would  still  mean  death;  not  by  her  own  hand, 
but  by  theirs.  They  twice  attempted  her  life  in 
Blaenau." 

"In  any  case,  it  is  reasonably  clear  that  not  a  mo- 
ment is  to  be  lost  if  we  are  to  help  her." 

"I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  said  Fitz,  "and  that's 
the  truth." 

I  confessed  that  I  too  had  no  very  clear  idea  of  the 
course  of  action.  It  occurred  to  me  that  the  wisest 
thing  to  be  done  was  to  take  a  third  person  into  our 
counsels. 

"You  ask  my  advice,"  said  I;  "it  seems  to  me  that 
the  best  thing  to  do  is  to  see  if  Coverdale  will  help  us." 

"That  will  mean  publicity.  At  all  costs  I  feel  that 
that  must  be  avoided." 

"Coverdale  is  a  shrewd  fellow.  He  will  know  what 
to  do ;  he  is  a  man  you  can  trust ;  and  he  will  be  able 
to  set  the  proper  machinery  in  motion." 


50  MRS.  FITZ 

My  insistence  on  the  point,  and  Fitz's  unwilling 
recognition  of  the  need  for  a  desperate  remedy,  goaded 
him  into  a  half-hearted  consent.  In  my  own  mind  I 
was  persuaded  of  the  value  of  Coverdale's  advice,  in 
whatever  it  might  consist.  He  was  the  head  of  the 
police  in  our  shire,  and  apart  from  a  little  external 
pomposity,  without  which  one  is  given  to  understand 
it  is  hardly  possible  for  a  Chief  Constable  to  play  the 
part,  he  was  a  shrewd  and  kindhearted  fellow,  who  knew 
a  good  deal  about  things  in  general. 

Poor  Fitz  would  listen  to  no  suggestion  of  food. 
Therefore  I  ordered  the  car  round  at  once,  and  in- 
cidentally informed  the  ruler  of  the  household  and  the 
expectant  assembly  by  whom  she  was  surrounded,  that 
Fitz  and  I  had  some  private  business  to  transact  which 
required  our  immediate  presence  in  the  city  of  Mid- 
dleham. 

"Odo,"  said  she  whose  word  is  law,  with  a  mien  of 
dark  suspicion,  "if  Nevil  Fitzwaren  is  persuading  you 
to  lend  him  money,  I  forbid  you  to  entertain  the  idea. 
You  are  really  so  weak  in  such  matters.  You  have 
really  no  idea  of  the  value  of  money." 

"It  will  do  you  no  good  with  your  constituents 
either,"  said  Mary  Catesby,  "to  be  seen  in  Middleham 
with  Nevil  Fitzwaren." 

To  these  warning  voices  I  turned  deaf  ears,  and  fled 
from  the  room  in  a  fashion  so  precipitate  that  it  sug- 
gested guilt. 

No  time  was  lost  in  setting  forth.  As  we  glided  past 
the  front  of  the  house,  I  at  least  was  uncomfortably 
conscious  of  a  battery  of  hostile  eyes  in  ambush  behind 


ABOUNDS  IN  SENSATION  51 

the  window  panes.  There  could  be  no  doubt  that  every 
detail  of  our  going  was  duly  marked.  Heaven  knew 
what  theories  were  being  propounded!  Yet  whatever 
shape  they  assumed  I  was  sure  that  all  the  ingenuity 
in  the  world  would  not  hit  the  truth.  No  feat  of  pure 
imagination  was  likely  to  disclose  what  the  busi- 
ness really  was  that  had  caused  me  to  be  identified  in 
this  open  and  flagrant  manner  with  the  husband  of  the 
luckless  circus  rider  from  Vienna. 


CHAPTER  VI 

EXPERT  OPINION 

EVERY  mile  of  the  eight  to  Middleham,  Fitz  was  as 
gloomy  as  the  grave.  In  spite  of  the  confidence  he  had 
been  led  to  repose  in  my  judgment,  he  seemed  wholly 
unable  to  extend  it  to  that  of  Coverdale.  He  had  a  mor- 
bid dread  of  the  police  and  of  the  publicity  that  would 
invest  any  dealings  with  them.  The  preservation  of 
his  wife's  incognito  was  undoubtedly  a  matter  of  para- 
mount importance. 

It  was  half -past  twelve  when  we  reached  Middleham. 
We  were  lucky  enough  to  find  Coverdale  at  his  office 
at  the  sessions  hall. 

"Well,  what  can  I  do  for  you?"  said  the  Chief  Con- 
stable, heartily. 

"You  can  do  a  great  deal  for  us,  Coverdale,"  said  I. 
"But  the  first  thing  we  shall  ask  you  to  do  is  to  forget 
that  you  are  an  official.  We  come  to  you  in  your 
capacity  of  a  personal  friend.  In  that  capacity  we 
seek  any  advice  you  may  feel  able  or  disposed  to  give 
us.  But  before  we  give  you  any  information,  we  should 
like  to  have  your  assurance  that  you  will  treat  the 
whole  matter  as  being  told  to  you  in  the  strictest 
secrecy." 

Coverdale  has  as  active  a  sense  of  humour  as  his 


EXPERT  OPINION  53 

exalted  station  allows  him  to  sustain.  There  was  some- 
thing in  my  mode  of  address  that  seemed  to  appeal  to  it. 

"I  will  promise  that  on  one  condition,  Arbuthnot," 
said  he;  "which  is  that  you  do  not  seek  to  involve  me 
in  the  compounding  of  a  felony." 

"Oh,  no,  no,  no,  no !"  Fitz  burst  out. 

Fitz's  exclamation  and  his  tragic  face  banished  the 
smile  that  lurked  at  the  corners  of  Coverdale's  lips. 

I  deemed  it  best  that  Fitz  should  retell  the  story  of 
his  tragedy,  and  this  he  did.  In  the  course  of  his  nar- 
rative the  sweat  ran  down  his  face,  his  hands  twitched 
painfully,  and  his  bloodshot  eyes  grew  so  wild  that 
neither  Coverdale  nor  I  cared  to  look  at  them. 

Coverdale  sat  mute  and  grave  at  the  conclusion  of 
Fitz's  remarkable  story.  He  had  swung  round  in  his 
revolving  chair  to  face  us.  His  legs  were  crossed  and 
the  tips  of  his  fingers  were  placed  together,  after  the 
fashion  that  another  celebrity  in  a  branch  of  his  calling 
is  said  to  affect. 

"It's  a  queer  story  of  yours,  Fitzwaren,"  he  said  at 
last.  "But  the  world  is  full  of  'em— what?" 

"Help  me,"  said  Fitz,  piteously.  His  voice  was  that 
of  a  drowning  man. 

"I  think  we  shall  be  able  to  do  that,"  said  Coverdale. 
He  spoke  in  the  soothing  tones  of  a  skilful  surgeon. 

"The  first  thing  to  know,"  said  the  Chief  Constable, 
"is  the  number  of  the  car." 

"G.  Y.  70942  is  the  number." 

Coverdale  jotted  it  down  pensively  upon  his  blotting 
pad. 

"Have  you  a  portrait  of  Mrs.  Fitzwaren?"  he  asked. 


54  MRS.    FITZ 

"I  have  this,"  said  Fitz. 

In  the  most  natural  manner  he  flung  open  his  over- 
coat, pulled  away  his  evening  tie,  tore  open  his  collar 
and  produced  from  under  the  rumpled  shirt  front  a 
locket  suspended  by  a  fine  gold  chain  round  his  neck. 
It  contained  a  miniature  of  the  Princess,  executed  in 
Paris.  Both  Coverdale  and  I  examined  it  curiously, 
but  as  we  did  so,  I  fear  our  minds  had  a  single  thought. 
It  was  that  Fitz  was  a  little  mad. 

"Will  you  entrust  it  to  me?"  said  Coverdale. 

Fitz's  indecision  was  pathetic. 

"It's  the  only  one  I've  got,"  he  mumbled.  "I  don't 
suppose  I  shall  ever  be  able  to  get  another.  I  ought 
to  have  had  a  replica  while  I  had  the  chance." 

"I  undertake  to  return  it  within  three  days,"  said 
Coverdale,  with  a  simple  kindliness  for  which  I  hon- 
oured him. 

Fitz  handed  the  locket  to  him  impulsively. 

"Of  course  take  it,  by  all  means,"  he  said  hurriedly. 
"I  know  you  will  take  care  of  it.  Fact  is,  you  know, 
I'm  a  bit  knocked  over." 

"Naturally,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Coverdale.  "So 
should  we  all  be.  But  I  shall  go  up  to  town  this  after- 
noon and  have  a  talk  with  them  at  Scotland  Yard." 

"I  was  afraid  that  would  have  to  happen.  I  wanted 
it  to  be  kept  an  absolute  secret,  you  know." 

"You  can  depend  upon  the  Yard  to  be  the  soul  of 
discretion.  It  is  not  the  first  time  they  have  been  en- 
trusted with  the  internal  affairs  of  a  reigning  family. 
If  the  Princess  is  still  in  this  country  and  she  is  still 


EXPERT  OPINION  55 

alive,  and  there  is  no  reason  to  think  otherwise,  I  believe 
we  shall  not  have  to  wait  long  for  news  of  her." 

Coverdale  spoke  in  a  tone  of  calm  reassurance,  which 
at  least  was  eloquent  of  his  tact  and  his  knowledge  of 
men.  Overwrought  as  Fitz  was,  it  was  not  without  its 
effect  upon  him. 

"Ought  not  the  ports  to  be  watched?"  he  said. 

"I  hardly  think  it  will  be  necessary.  But  if  Scotland 
Yard  thinks  otherwise,  they  will  be  watched  of  course. 
Whatever  happens,  Fitzwaren,  you  can  be  quite  sure 
that  nothing  will  be  left  undone  in  our  endeavour  to  find 
out  what  has  really  happened  to  the  lady  we  shall  agree 
to  call  Mrs.  Fitzwaren.  Further,  you  can  depend  upon 
it  that  absolute  discretion  will  be  used." 

We  left  Coverdale,  imbued  with  a  sense  of  gratitude 
for  his  cordial  optimism,  and  I  think  we  both  felt  that 
a  peculiarly  delicate  business  could  not  be  in  more  com- 
petent hands.  He  was  a  man  of  sound  judgment  and 
infinite  discretion.  Throughout  this  singular  interview 
he  had  emerged  as  a  shrewd,  tactful  and  eminently  kind- 
hearted  fellow. 

As  a  result  of  this  visit  to  the  sessions  hall  at  Mid- 
dleham,  poor  Fitz  allowed  himself  a  little  hope.  He  had 
been  duly  impressed  by  the  man  of  affairs  who  had 
taken  the  case  in  hand.  However,  he  was  still  by  no 
means  himself.  He  was  still  in  a  strangely  excited  and 
gloomy  condition;  and  this  was  aggravated  by  his 
friendlessness  and  the  feeling  that  the  hand  of  every 
man  was  against  him. 

In  the  circumstances,  I  felt  obliged  to  yield  to  his 
expressed  wish  that  I  should  accompany  him  to  the 


56  MRS.    FITZ 

Grange.     As  the  crow  flies  it  is  less  than  four  miles 
from  my  house. 

The  home  of  the  Fitzwarens  is  a  rambling,  gloomy 
and  dilapidated  place  enough.  An  air  pervades  it  of 
having  run  to  seed.  Every  Fitzwaren  who  has  inhabited 
it  within  living  memory  has  been  a  gambler  and  a  roue 
in  one  form  or  another.  The  Fitzwarens  are  by  long 
odds  the  oldest  family  in  our  part  of  the  world,  and 
by  odds  equally  long  their  record  is  the  most  unfor- 
tunate. Coming  of  a  long  line  of  ill-regulated  lives, 
the  heavy  bills  drawn  by  his  forbears  upon  posterity 
seemed  to  have  become  payable  in  the  person  of  the 
unhappy  Fitz.  Doubtless  it  was  not  right  that  one 
who  in  Mrs.  Catesby's  phrase  was  a  married  man,  a 
father  of  a  family  and  a  county  member,  should  con- 
stitute himself  as  the  apologist  of  such  a  man  as  Fitz. 
But  in  spite  of  his  errors,  I  had  never  found  it  in  my 
heart  to  act  towards  him  as  so  many  of  his  neighbours 
did  not  hesitate  to  do.  The  fact  that  he  had  fagged 
for  me  at  school  and  the  knowledge  that  there  was  a 
lovable,  a  pathetic  and  even  a  heroic  side  to  one  to  whom 
fate  had  been  relentlessly  cruel,  made  it  impossible  for 
me  to  regard  him  as  wholly  outside  the  pale. 

I  can  never  forget  our  arrival  at  the  Grange  on  this 
piercing  winter  afternoon.  My  car  belonged  to  that 
earlier  phase  of  motoring  when  the  traveller  was  more 
exposed  to  the  British  climate  than  modern  science  con- 
siders necessary.  The  snow,  at  the  beck  of  a  terrible 
north-easter,  beat  in  our  faces  pitilessly.  And  when  we 
came  half  frozen  into  the  house,  we  were  met  on  its 
threshold  by  a  mite  of  four.  She  was  the  image  of  her 


EXPERT  OPINION  57 

mother,  with  the  same  skin  of  lustrous  olive,  the  same 
mass  of  raven  hair  and  the  same  challenging  black 
eyes.  In  her  hand  was  a  mutilated  doll.  It  was  carried 
upside  down  and  it  had  been  decapitated. 

"I  want  my  mama,"  she  said  with  an  air  of  authority 
which  was  ludicrously  like  that  of  the  circus-rider  from 
Vienna.  "Have  you  brought  my  mama?" 

"No,  my  pearl  of  price,"  said  Fitz,  swinging  the  mite 
up  to  his  snow-covered  face,  "but  she  will  be  here  soon. 
She  has  sent  you  this." 

He  kissed  the  small  elf,  who  had  all  the  disdain  of 
a  princess  and  the  witchery  of  a  fairy. 

"Who  is  dis  ?"  said  she,  pointing  at  me  with  her  doll. 

"Dis,  my  jewel  of  the  east,  is  our  kind  friend  Mr. 
Arbuthnot.  If  you  are  very  nice  to  him  he  will  stay 
to  tea." 

"Do  you  like  my  mama,  Mistah  'Buthnot?"  said  the 
latest  scion  of  Europe's  oldest  dynasty,  with  a  direct- 
ness which  was  disconcerting  from  a  person  of  four. 

"Very  much  indeed,"  said  I  warmly. 

"You  can  stay  to  tea,  Mr.  'Buthnot.  I  like  you  vewy 
much." 

The  prompt  cordiality  of  the  verdict  was  certainly 
pleasant  to  a  humble  unit  of  a  monarchical  country. 
The  creature  extended  her  tiny  paw  with  a  gesture  so 
superb  that  there  was  only  one  thing  left  for  a  courtier 
to  do.  That  was  to  kiss  it. 

The  owner  of  the  paw  seemed  to  be  much  gratified 
by  this  discreet  action. 

"I  like  you  vewy  much,  Mistah  'Buthnot,  I  will  tell 
you  my  name." 


58  MRS.    FITZ 

"Oh,  do,  please !" 

"My  name  is  Marie  Sophia  Louisa  Waren  Fitz- 
waren." 

"Phoebus,  what  a  name!" 

"And  dis,  Mistah  'Buthnot,  is  my  guv'ness,  Miss 
Green.  She  is  a  tarn  fool." 

The  lady  thus  designated  had  come  unexpectedly 
upon  the  scene.  An  estimable  and  bespectacled  gentle- 
woman of  uncompromising  mien,  she  gazed  down  upon 
her  charge  with  the  gravest  austerity. 

"Marie  Louisa,  if  I  hear  that  phrase  again  you  will 
go  to  bed." 

As  Miss  Green  spoke,  however,  she  gazed  at  me  over 
her  spectacles  in  a  humorously  reflective  fashion. 

Marie  Louisa  shrugged  her  small  shoulders  disdain- 
fully, and  in  a  tone  that,  to  say  the  least,  was  peremp- 
tory, ordered  the  butler,  who  looked  venerable  enough 
to  be  her  great-grandfather,  to  bring  the  tea.  The 
conge  that  the  venerable  servitor  performed  upon  re- 
ceiving this  order  rendered  it  clear  that  upon  a  day  he 
had  been  a  confidential  retainer  in  the  royal  house  of 
Illyria. 

"I  am  afraid,  Miss  Green,"  said  I,  tentatively,  "that 
your  post  is  no  sinecure." 

"That  mite  of  four  has  the  imperious  will  of  a 
Catherine  of  Russia,"  said  Miss  Green,  with  an  amused 
smile.  "If  she  ever  attains  the  estate  of  womanhood, 
I  shudder  to  think  what  she  will  be." 

Fitz  entreated  me  to  dine  with  him.  I  yielded  in  the 
hope  that  a  little  company  might  help  him  to  fight  his 
depression.  The  meal  was  not  a  cheerful  one.  Under 


EXPERT  OPINION  59 

the  most  favourable  conditions  Fitz  is  not  a  cheerful 
individual ;  but  I  was  obliged  to  note  that  of  late  years 
he  had  learned  to  exercise  his  will.  In  many  ways  I 
thought  he  had  changed  for  the  better.  He  had  lost 
his  coarseness  of  speech;  he  was  scrupulously  moderate 
in  what  he  ate  and  drank,  and  his  bearing  had  gained 
in  reserve  and  dignity.  In  a  word,  he  had  grown  into 
a  more  civilised,  a  more  developed  being  than  I  had 
ever  thought  it  possible  for  him  to  become. 

It  was  past  eleven  when  I  returned  to  my  own  domain. 
The  blizzard  still  prevailed,  and  I  found  Mrs.  Arbuth- 
not  in  the  drawing-room  enthroned  before  a  roaring 
fire,  which  happily  served  as  some  mitigation  of  the 
arctic  demeanour  with  which  my  return  was  greeted. 
This,  in  conjunction  with  the  adverse  elements  through 
which  I  had  already  passed,  was  enough  to  complete  the 
overthrow  of  the  strongest  constitution. 

The  ruler  of  Dympsfield  House — Dympsfield  House 
is  the  picturesque  name  conferred  upon  our  ancestral 
home  by  my  grandfather,  Mr.  George  Arbuthnot  of 
Messrs.  Arbuthnot,  Boyd  and  Co.,  the  celebrated  firm 
of  sugar  refiners  of  Bristol — the  ruler  of  Dympsfield 
House  was  ostensibly  engaged  in  the  study  of  a  work 
of  fiction  of  pronounced  sporting  character,  with  a 
yellow  cover.  Works  of  this  nature  and  the  provincial 
edition  of  the  Daily  Courier,  which  is  guaranteed  to 
have  a  circulation  of  ten  million  copies  per  diem,  are 
the  only  forms  of  literature  that  the  ruler  of  Dymps- 
field House  considers  it  "healthy"  to  peruse. 

When  I  entered  the  drawing-room  with  a  free  and 
easy  air  which  was  designed  to  suggest  that  my  con- 


60  MRS.    FITZ 

science  had  nothing  to  conceal  and  nothing  to  defend, 
the  wife  of  my  bosom  discarded  her  novel  and  fixed  me 
with  that  cool  gaze  which  all  who  are  born  Vane- 
Anstruther  consider  it  to  be  the  hallmark  of  their  caste 
to  wield. 

"Where  have  you  been,  Odo?"  was  the  greeting  that 
was  reserved  for  me. 

"Dining  with  Fitz,"  said  I,  succinctly. 

A  short  pause. 

"What  did  you  say?" 

I  repeated  my  modest  statement. 

A  snort. 

"Upon  my  word,  Odo,  I  can't  think '!" 

It  called  for  a  nice  judgment  to  know  which  opening 
to  play. 

"Fitz  is  in  trouble,"  said  I. 

"Is  that  very  surprising?" 

It  is  difficult  to  render  the  true  Vane-Anstruther 
vocal  inflections  in  terms  of  literary  art.  A  similar 
problem  is  presented  by  the  unwavering  glint  of  the 
china  blue  eye  and  the  subtle  curl  of  the  lip. 

"In  the  sense  you  wish  to  convey,  mon  enfant,  it  is 
surprising.  Fitz  is  one  of  the  poor  devils  who  are  by 
no  means  so  black  as  they  are  painted." 

A  toss  of  the  head. 

"Don't  forget  that  I  have  known  Fitz  all  his  life; 
that  we  were  at  school  together;  and  that  one  way  and 
another,  I  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  him." 

"I  wouldn't  boast  about  it,  if  I  were  you.  The  man 
is  a  byeword ;  you  know  that.  It  is  not  kind  to  me." 

I  was  in  mortal  fear  of  tears.    That  dread  accessory 


EXPERT  OPINION  61 

of  conjugal  life  is  permitted  by  the  Code  De  Vere  Vane- 
Anstruther  in  certain  situations.  However,  although 
the  weather  was  very  heavy,  for  the  time  being,  that 
was  spared  me,  and  I  breathed  more  freely. 

Joseph  Jocelyn  De  Vere  Vane-Anstruther,  who  had 
a  cigarette  between  his  lips,  and  was  lying  full  length 
upon  a  chintz  that  was  charmingly  devised  in  blue  and 
yellow,  inquired  whether  I  had  mentioned  to  Fitz  the 
subject  of  a  meeting  with  the  outraged  Brasset. 

"If  the  weather  don't  pick  up,"  said  this  Corinthian, 
"we  shall  go  up  to  town  to-morrow,  and  my  pal  in 
Jermyn  Street  will  put  Brasset  through  his  facings. 
With  a  bit  of  practice  Brasset  ought  to  be  able  to  give 
Fitz  his  gruel." 

"I  fail  to  see,"  said  I,  "why  the  unfortunate  husband 
should  be  brought  to  book  for  the  sins  of  the  wife." 

"If  you  take  to  yourself  a  wife,"  said  my  relation 
by  marriage,  with  a  didacticism  of  which  he  is  seldom 
guilty,  "it  is  for  better  or  for  worse;  and  if  your 
missus  overrides  the  best  'ound  in  the  pack  and  then 
'its  the  master  over  the  head  with  her  crop  because  he 
tells  her  what  he  thinks  of  her,  you  are  looking  both 
ways  for  trouble." 

"It  is  a  hard  doctrine,"  said  I. 

"If  a  chap  is  such  a  fool  as  to  marry,  he  must  stand 
to  the  consequences." 

"He  must !" 

Such  a  prompt  corroboration  of  the  young  fellow's 
reasoning  can  only  be  described  as  sinister.  A  flash 
of  the  china  blue  eyes  came  from  the  vicinity  of  the 
hearth  rug. 


62  MRS.    FITZ 

"How  did  Mrs.  Fitz  bear  herself  at  the  dinner 
table?"  inquired  the  sharer  of  my  joys.  "Did  she  eat 
with  her  knife  and  drink  out  of  the  finger  bowls?" 

"No,  mon  enfant,  I  am  compelled  to  say  that  she 
did  not." 

Mrs.  Arbuthnot  frowned  a  becoming  incredulity. 

"You  surprise  one." 

"Perhaps  it  is  not  altogether  remarkable." 

"A  matter  of  opinion,  surely." 

"Personally,  I  prefer  to  regard  it  as  a  matter  of 
fact.  You  see,  Mrs.  Fitz  was  not  at  the  dinner  table." 

"Where  was  she,  may  I  ask?" 

"She  had  gone  up  to  town." 

"And  was  that  why  her  husband  was  so  upset?" 

"There  is  reason  to  believe  that  it  was." 

"Oh!" 

There  was  great  virtue  in  that  exclamation.  My 
amiable  coadjutor,  as  I  knew  perfectly  well,  was  burn- 
ing to  pursue  her  inquiries,  but  her  status  as  a  human 
being  did  not  permit  her  to  proceed  farther.  There  are 
many  advantages  incident  to  the  proud  condition  of  a 
De  Vere  Vane-Anstruther,  but  that  almost  inhuman 
eminence  has  its  drawbacks  also.  Chief  among  them 
are  the  limits  imposed  upon  a  perfectly  natural  and 
healthy  curiosity.  It  is  not  seemly  for  a  member  of 
that  distinguished  clan  to  enter  too  exhaustively  into 
the  affairs  of  her  neighbours. 

On  the  following  morning,  in  spite  of  the  behaviour 
of  the  weather,  we  were  favoured  by  an  early  visit  from 
Mrs.  Catesby.  She  was  in  high  feather. 

"You  have  heard  the  news,  of  course !"  she  proclaimed 


EXPERT  OPINION  63 

for  the  benefit  of  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  and  with  an  expan- 
sion of  manner  that  she  does  not  always  permit  herself. 
"Of  course  Odo  has  told  you  what  brought  Nevil  Fitz- 
waren  here  yesterday  morning." 

"Oh  no,  he  hasn't,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot,  rather 
aggrievedly. 

"Is  it  conceivable,  my  dear  child,  that  you  have  not 
heard  the  news?" 

"I  only  know,  Mary,  that  Nevil  Fitzwaren  is  in  trou- 
ble. Odo  did  not  think  well  to  supply  the  details,  and 
really  the  affairs  of  the  Fitzwarens  interest  one  so  little 
that  one  did  not  feel  inclined  to  inquire." 

"The  creature  has  bolted,  my  dear." 

In  spite  of  Mrs.  Arbuthnot's  determination  to  take 
no  interest  in  the  affairs  of  the  Fitzwarens,  she  was  not 
proof  against  this  melodramatic  announcement. 

"Bolted,  Mary!" 

"Bolted,  child.     And  with  whom  do  you  suppose?" 

"One  would  say  with  the  chauffeur,"  hazarded  Mrs. 
Arbuthnot  promptly. 

Mrs.  Catesby's  countenance  fell.  She  made  no 
attempt  to  dissemble  her  disappointment. 

"Then  Odo  has  told  you  after  all." 

"Not  a  syllable,  I  assure  you,  Mary.  But  I  am  cer- 
tain that  if  Mrs.  Fitz  has  bolted  with  anybody,  it  must 
have  been  with  the  chauffeur." 

"How  clever  of  you,  my  dear  child !"  The  Great 
Lady's  admiration  was  open  and  sincere.  "Such  a  right 
feeling  about  things !  She  has  certainly  bolted  with  the 
chauffeur." 


64,  MRS.    FITZ 

"Odo,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot,  triumphant  yet  im- 
perious, "why  didn't  you  tell  me  all  this?" 

"Mon  enfant,"  said  I  in  the  mellowest  tones  of  which 
I  am  master,  "you  gave  me  clearly  to  understand  that 
the  affairs  of  the  Fitzwarens  had  no  possible  interest 
for  you." 

Mrs.  Arbuthnot  went  to  the  length  of  biting  her  lip. 
By  withholding  such  a  sensational  bit  of  news,  I  had 
been  guilty  of  an  unheard-of  outrage  upon  human 
nature.  But  she  could  not  deny  my  plea  of  justifica- 
tion. 

"Nevil  Fitzwaren  is  far  luckier  than  he  deserves  to 
be,"  said  the  Great  Lady.  "It  is  a  merciful  dispensa- 
tion that  dear  Evelyn  did  not  actually  call  upon  her. 
I  feel  sure  she  would  have  done,  had  I  not  implored 
her  not  to  be  hasty." 

"But,  Mary,  I  was  under  the  impression  that  you 
called  upon  her  yourself." 

"So  I  did,  Odo.  But  that  was  merely  out  of  respect 
for  the  memory  of  Nevil's  mother.  Besides,  it  was  only 
right  that  somebody  should  see  what  her  home  was 
like." 

"What  was  it  like,  Mary?"  said  I. 

Mrs.  Catesby  compressed  her  lips. 

"I  ask  you,  Mary.  You  alone  sacrificed  yourself 
upon  the  altar  of  public  decency ;  you  alone  are  in  pos- 
session of  the  grim  facts." 

"Let  us  be  charitable,  my  dear  Odo.  After  all,  what 
can  one  expect  of  a  person  from  a  continental  circus?" 

"What  indeed!"  was  my  pious  objuration. 

"There  is  only  one  thing,  I  fear,  for  Nevil  to  do 


EXPERT  OPINION  65 

now,"  said  the  Great  Lady.     "He  must  get  a  divorce 
and  marry  his  cook." 

The  august  matron  denied  us  the  honour  of  her 
company  at  luncheon.  She  was  due  at  the  Vicarage. 
And  there  was  reason  to  believe  that  she  would  drink 
tea  at  the  Priory  and  dine  at  the  Castle.  It  was  so 
necessary  that  the  joyful  tidings  of  the  Divine  justice 
that  had  overtaken  the  wicked  should  be  spread  abroad. 


CHAPTER  VII 
COVERDALE'S  REPORT 

IN  the  afternoon  I  rode  over  to  the  Grange  to  learn 
if  there  was  any  news  and  to  see  how  Fitz  was  bearing 
up.  He  was  certainly  doing  uncommonly  well.  His 
face  was  less  haggard,  his  eyes  were  not  so  wild,  while 
a  change  of  linen  and  a  razor  had  helped  his  appearance 
considerably. 

Coverdale  had  telegraphed  to  say  that  the  car  had 
been  traced  to  a  garage  in  Regent  Street,  and  that 
before  long  he  hoped  to  be  in  possession  of  further 
information. 

Fitz  seemed  to  regard  the  finding  of  the  car  as  a 
favourable  omen.  At  least  his  emotions  were  under 
far  better  control  than  on  the  previous  day.  His  man- 
ner was  no  longer  overwrought,  and  he  was  able  to 
take  a  more  practical  view  of  the  situation. 

He  promised  to  keep  me  informed  of  any  fresh  devel- 
opment ;  and  I  left  him  without  misgiving.  He  seemed 
much  more  fit  to  cope  with  events  than  when  I  had  left 
him  the  night  before. 

It  was  in  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day  that  I 
saw  Fitz  again.  It  happened  that  I  was  just  about  to 
set  out  from  my  own  door  when  he  drove  up  in  a  dog- 
cart. He  was  accompanied  by  Coverdale. 

66 


COVERDALE'S  REPORT  67 

Fitz  has  a  curiously  mobile  countenance.  It  is  quick 
to  advertise  the  fleeting  emotions  of  its  owner.  This 
afternoon  there  was  a  light  in  his  eye  and  a  look  of 
resolution  and  alertness  about  him  which  said  that  news 
had  come,  and  that  whatever  its  nature,  Nevil  Fitzwaren 
was  not  prepared  to  submit  tamely  to  fate. 

"I  was  on  the  point  of  coming  to  see  you,"  I  explained 
as  I  led  them  in. 

The  presence  of  Coverdale  seemed  to  indicate  an  im- 
portant development.  It  would  have  been  difficult,  how- 
ever, to  deduce  so  much  from  the  bearing  of  the  Chief 
Constable.  He  is  such  a  discreet  and  sagacious  indi- 
vidual, that  no  amount  of  special  information  is  capable 
of  detracting  from  or  adding  to  his  habitual  air  of 
composed  importance. 

My  visitors  were  supplied  with  a  little  sustenance  in 
a  liquid  form  before  I  asked  for  the  news ;  and  then  in 
answer  to  my  demand  Fitz  called  upon  Coverdale  to 
put  me  au  fait  with  the  latest  information. 

It  appeared  that  Coverdale  had  hastened  to  take 
Scotland  Yard  into  his  confidence,  and  that  that  famous 
organisation  had  been  able  in  a  surprisingly  short  space 
of  time  to  shed  a  light  upon  the  mysterious  disappear- 
ance of  Mrs.  Fitz. 

"She  has  been  traced  to  the  Elyrian  Embassy  in 
Portland  Place,"  said  Coverdale. 

"Indeed !"  said  I.  "In  that  case  we  can  congratulate 
you,  Fitz,  that  she  is  likely  to  come  by  no  harm  in  that 
dignified  seclusion." 

"Yes,  that  aspect  of  the  affair  is  decidedly  favour- 
able," said  Coverdale.  "But  as  far  as  the  Commissioner 


68  MRS.    FITZ 

is  able  to  learn,  the  lady  is  to  all  intents  and  purposes 
being  held  a  close  prisoner." 

"A  very  singular  state  of  things,  surely." 

"Decidedly  singular.  But  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
the  Illyrian  Ambassador  is  acting  upon  strict  instruc- 
tions from  his  Sovereign." 

"He  must  be  a  pretty  cool  hand,  to  kidnap  the  wife 
of  an  Englishman  in  this  country  in  the  broad  light  of 
day,  and  the  monarch  for  whom  he  acts  strikes  one  also 
as  being  a  pretty  cool  customer." 

Coverdale  laughed.  He  knocked  the  ash  off  the  end 
of  his  cigar  with  an  air  of  reflective  enjoyment. 

"Kings  are  kings  in  Illyria,"  said  he.  "Saving  the 
presence  of  the  son-in-law  of  Ferdinand  the  Twelfth, 
his  Majesty  is  no  believer  in  this  damned  constitutional 
nonsense.  He  has  his  own  ideas  and  his  own  little  way 
of  carrying  them  out." 

"He  has,  apparently.  But  unfortunately  for  Fer- 
dinand the  Twelfth  and  fortunately  for  his  son-in-law, 
Fitz,  we  in  this  country  are  rather  decided  believers  in 
this  damned  constitutional  nonsense.  I  daresay,  Cover- 
dale,  your  friend  the  Commissioner  will  be  able  to  put 
his  Illyrian  Majesty  right  upon  the  point." 

The  stealthy  air  of  enjoyment  that  was  hovering 
about  Coverdale's  rubicund  visage  seemed  to  deepen. 

"You'd  think  so,  wouldn't  you?"  he  said,  with  a 
cheerful  puff,  "but  it  seems  it  is  not  quite  so  easy  as 
you'd  suppose." 

I  confessed  to  surprise. 

"You  see,  Arbuthnot,  even  in  a  country  like  ours, 
kings  are  entitled  to  a  measure  of  respect.  The  reign- 


COVERDALE'S  REPORT  69 

ing  family  of  Illyria — under  the  favour  of  our  dis- 
tinguished friend — "  the  Chief  Constable  bowed  to 
Fitz  with  a  solemn  unction  that  to  my  mind  was  inde- 
scribably comic,  "has  ties  of  blood  with  nearly  all  the 
royal  houses  of  Europe;  the  Illyrian  Embassy  is  by 
no  means  a  negligible  quantity  at  the  Court  of  Saint 
James,  for  if  Illyria  is  not  very  large  it  is  devilish  well 
connected;  and  again,  as  the  Commissioner  assures  me, 
an  embassy  is  sacred  earth  which  lies  outside  his  juris- 
diction." 

"He  seems  to  have  come  up  against  rather  a  tough 
proposition." 

"He  is  the  first  to  admit  it.  Here  we  have  a  flagrant 
outrage  committed  upon  the  personal  property  of  a 
law-abiding  Englishman,  under  his  own  vine  and  fig- 
tree,  in  his  own  little  country;  the  perpetrators  of  the 
outrage  sit  unconcerned  in  Portland  Place ;  yet  there 
seems  to  be  no  machinery  in  this  admirably  governed 
and  highly  constitutional  island  which  can  redress  this 
flagrant  hardship." 

"But  surely,  Coverdale,  a  way  can  be  found?" 

"The  Commissioner  declined  point-blank  to  under- 
take anything  on  his  own  responsibility.  Accordingly 
we  went  to  the  Foreign  Office  and  had  an  interview  with 
an  Official.  The  Official  didn't  seem  to  know  what  the 
practice  of  the  Office  was  in  such  cases,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  it  was  the  first  time  that  the  Office  appeared 
to  have  acquired  any  practice  in  them.  But  upon  one 
point  he  was  perfectly  clear.  It  was  that  the  Commis- 
sioner would  do  well  to  return  without  delay  to  his 
fingermarks  and  his  photographs  of  notorious  criminals, 


70  MRS.    FITZ 

and  contrive  to  forget  that  'L'Affaire  Fitz'  had  been 
brought  to  his  notice." 

"But  that  is  absurd." 

"That  is  how  the  matter  stands  at  all  events,"  said 
Coverdale  with  an  air  of  detachment. 

"Did  the  Official  confer  with  the  Minister?" 

"Yes;  and  the  Minister  conferred  with  the  Official; 
and  their  joint  wisdom  amounted  to  this:  if  a  British 
subject  indulges  in  the  luxury  of  a  Ferdinand  the 
Twelfth  for  a  father-in-law,  he  must  refer  to  God  any 
little  differences  that  may  arise  between  them,  because 
the  law  of  England  does  not  contemplate  and  declines 
to  take  cognisance  of  these  domesticities." 

"It  is  incredible!" 

"I  agree  with  you,  Arbuthnot ;  and  yet  if  you  look 
at  the  matter  in  all  its  bearings,  it  is  difficult  to  see 
what  other  conclusion  could  have  been  arrived  at.  The 
whole  affair  bristles  with  difficulties.  There  is  no 
specific  evidence  that  the  Crown  Princess  of  Illyria  is 
actually  in  need  of  aid.  Although  many  of  the  details 
of  her  flight  from  Blaenau  five  years  ago  are  known 
to  the  Foreign  Office,  it  is  in  complete  ignorance  of 
the  fact  that  she  was  in  residence  in  this  country.  And 
again  the  whole  thing  is  far  too  delicate  to  risk  a  fall 
with  the  Illyrian  Ambassador." 

"Certainly  the  national  horror  of  looking  foolish 
appears  to  justify  the  F.O.  in  the  role  of  Agag.  But 
in  my  humble  judgment  its  masterly  inactivity  is  des- 
perately hard  on  a  British  subject." 

"Well,"  said  Coverdale,  having  recourse  to  the  plain 


COVERDALE'S  REPORT  71 

man's  philosophy,  "if  a  British  subject  will  indulge  in 
a  Ferdinand  the  Twelfth  for  a  father-in-law !" 

During  our  extremely  piquant  discussion — to  me  it 
was  certainly  that,  however  tame  and  flat  it  may  appear 
in  the  bald  prose  in  which  it  is  now  invested — the  person 
most  affected  by  it  was  a  study  in  sombre  self-repres- 
sion. He  spoke  not  a  word,  he  hardly  indulged  in  a 
gesture;  yet  his  whole  bearing  had  significance.  And 
when  at  last  the  time  came  for  him  to  speak,  he  used 
a  quiet  deliberation  as  though  every  word  had  been 
sought  out  and  weighed  beforehand. 

"There  is  only  one  thing  to  be  done,"  he  said.  "As 
the  law  won't  help  me,  I  must  help  the  law." 

Not  only  in  its  substance,  but  also  in  the  manner 
of  its  delivery,  such  an  announcement  was  entirely 
worthy  of  the  son-in-law  of  Ferdinand  the  Twelfth. 

I  saw  the  rather  amused  uplift  of  Coverdale's  eye- 
brows, but  knowing  the  unusual  calibre  of  the  speaker, 
I  felt  instinctively  that  at  this  stage  a  display  of  scep- 
ticism would  be  out  of  place.  Fitz  was  quite  capable  of 
helping  the  law  of  England,  if  he  really  felt  that  it 
required  his  assistance. 

"I  can't  thank  you,  Coverdale,"  he  said  simply. 
"You  have  done  for  me  what  I  can't  repay.  This  ap- 
plies to  you  also,  Arbuthnot.  I  shall  never  forget  what 
you've  done  for  me.  But  now  I  am  going  to  ask  you 
both  as  fellow  Englishmen,  with  wives  and  children  of 
your  own,  to  stand  by  me  while  I  try  to  get  fair  play." 

Such  words  affected  us  both. 

"You  can  certainly  count  upon  me  for  what  I  may 
be  worth,"  said  I,  "but  frankly,  my  dear  fellow,  I  fail 


72  MRS.    FITZ 

to  see  what  you  can  do  in  face  of  the  Foreign  Office 
decree." 

"I  shall  play  Ferdinand  at  his  own  game  and  beat 
him  at  it.  as  I've  done  before  to-day." 

It  was  a  vaunt  that  Fitz  was  entitled  to  make.  The 
elopement  from  Blaenau  must  have  been  the  work  of 
a  bold  and  resourceful  man. 

"Of  one  thing  I  am  convinced,"  Fitz  proceeded; 
"there  is  not  an  hour  to  lose.  My  wife  may  be  taken 
back  to  Blaenau  at  any  moment.  I  am  confident  that 
von  Arlenberg,  the  Ambassador,  has  orders  from  Fer- 
dinand. If  I  am  to  save  the  life  of  Sonia,  I  must  act 
without  delay." 

Coverdale  nodded  his  head  in  silence,  while  I  felt  a 
pang  of  dismay.  The  argument  was  clear  enough,  but 
Fitz's  impotence  in  the  presence  of  events  made  him  a 
figure  for  pity. 

His  demeanour,  however,  betrayed  no  consciousness 
of  this.  In  those  strange  eyes  there  was  a  purpose,  and 
something  had  entered  his  voice. 

"I  want  half  a  dozen  good  fellows — sportsmen — to 
stand  by  me.  You  are  one,  Arbuthnot.  You  too,  Cov- 
erdale. You  will  stand  by  me,  eh  ?" 

The  Chief  Constable  looked  a  little  uneasy.  To  the 
official  mind  such  a  request  was  decidedly  ambiguous, 
not  to  say  uncomfortable. 

"I  should  be  glad,  Fitzwaren,"  said  he,  "if  you  will 
tell  me  precisely  what  responsibilities  I  shall  incur  if  I 
pledge  myself  to  this  course." 

"It  depends  on  circumstances,"  said  Fitz.  "But  if 
I  find  my  back  to  the  wall,  as  I  daresay  I  shall  before 


COVERDALE'S  REPORT  73 

I  am  through  with  this  business,  I  should  like  to  have 
at  my  elbow  a  few  men  I  can  trust." 

"So  long  as  you  don't  depute  me  to  throw  a  bomb 
into  the  Embassy !"  said  Coverdale. 

Fitz's  scheme  for  the  recovery  of  his  lawful  property 
was  not  so  drastic  as  that,  yet  wjien  it  came  to  be  un- 
folded, it  was  somewhat  of  a  nature  to  give  pause  to 
a  pair  of  Englishmen  converging  upon  middle  age, 
pledged  especially  to  observe  the  law. 

"I  intend  to  have  her  out  of  Portland  Place.  She 
must  come  away  to-morrow.  There  is  not  an  hour  to 
lose.  But  I  must  find  a  few  pals  who  are  good  at  need, 
because  it  won't  be  child's  play,  you  know." 

"It  certainly  won't  be  child's  play,"  agreed  the  Chief 
Constable,  "if  it  is  your  intention  to  break  into  the 
Illyrian  Embassy  and  seize  the  Crown  Princess  by 
force." 

"There  is  no  help  for  it,"  said  Fitz  quietly. 

Coverdale  grew  thoughtful.  It  was  tolerably  clear 
that  Fitz  was  contemplating  an  act  of  open  violence; 
and  as  a  breach  of  the  peace  must  at  all  times  be  con- 
strued as  a  breach  of  the  law,  it  was  scarcely  for  him 
to  aid  and  abet  him.  At  heart,  nevertheless,  the  worthy 
Chief  Constable  was  a  downright,  honest,  foursquare, 
genuine  fellow.  He  did  not  say  as  much,  but  there  was 
something  in  his  manner  which  implied  that  he  had  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  those  repositories  of  justice, 
national  and  international,  Scotland  Yard  and  the 
Foreign  Office,  were  conniving  at  a  frank  injustice  to 
a  fellow  Briton. 

"It  is  a  hard  case,"  said  Coverdale;  "and  in  the  cir- 


74  MRS.    FITZ 

cumstances  I  don't  altogether  see  how  you  can  be  blamed 
if  you  take  reasonable  steps  to  recover  your  property." 

"In  other  words,  Coverdale,"  said  I,  "you  are  pre- 
pared to  countenance  the  raid  on  the  Illyrian  Em- 
bassy?" 

The  Chief  Constable  laughed. 

"I  don't  say  that  exactly.  And  yet,  after  all,  this 
is  a  free  country ;  and  if  a  parcel  of  damned  foreigners 
bagged  my  wife,  and  the  law  could  afford  me  no  redress, 
I'm  afraid,  I'm  sadly  afraid " 

"It  would  be  'Up  Guards  and  at  'em'?" 

"Upon  my  word,  Arbuthnot,  I'm  not  sure  it 
wouldn't." 

"Thank  you,  Coverdale,"  said  Fitz.  "And  I  take  it 
that  both  of  you  will  go  up  to  London  with  me  to- 
morrow." 

"What  do  you  ask  us  precisely  to  do?" 

"Leave  the  details  to  me" — Fitz's  air  was  that  of  a 
staff  officer.  "You  can  trust  me  not  to  go  out  of  my 
way  to  look  for  trouble.  But  it  is  not  much  use  for  one 
man  singlehanded  to  attempt  to  force  his  way  into  the 
Illyrian  Embassy  for  the  purpose  of  effecting  the  rescue 
of  the  Crown  Princess." 

"It  would  be  suicidal  for  one  man  to  attempt  it," 
we  agreed. 

"What  is  the  minimum  of  assistance  you  will  re- 
quire?" said  I. 

"Half  a  dozen  stout  fellows  ought  to  be  able  to  man- 
age it  comfortably.  There's  Coverdale  and  you  and 
me.  If  I  can  enlist  three  others  between  now  and 
to-morrow,  the  thing  is  as  good  as  done." 


COVERDALE'S  REPORT  75 

Fitz's  calm  tone  of  optimism  was  certainly  surpris- 
ing. The  Chief  Constable  and  myself  exchanged  rather 
rueful  glances.  We  appeared  to  have  pledged  our- 
selves to  a  course  of  action  that  might  have  the  most 
serious  and  far-reaching  consequences. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

PREPARATIONS  FOR  THE  CAMPAIGN 

ONE  thing  was  perfectly  clear ;  we  were  pretty  well 
in  a  cleft  stick.  So  heartily  had  we  espoused  the  cause 
of  .a  much  injured  man,  that  to  withhold  practical 
assistance,  now  it  was  needed  so  sorely,  was  hardly 
possible.  Yet  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  discomfiture 
and  perplexity  were  beginning  to  play  the  deuce  with 
the  Chief  Constable's  official  placidity.  I  also,  "a  mar- 
ried man,  a  father  of  a  family  and  a  county  member," 
began  to  have  qualms. 

"Three  other  stout  fellows,"  said  Fitz,  "who  are  not 
afraid  of  a  tight  place  and  who  can  be  trusted  with  a 
revolver  are  almost  a  necessity.  The  trouble  is  to  find 
them." 

On  many  occasions  since,  I  have  had  cause  to  review 
my  conduct  in  this  crisis.  Whether  it  was  that  of  a 
sane,  judicial-minded,  law-abiding  unit  of  society  I 
have  never  been  able  to  determine.  Doubtless  I  erred 
egregiously.  All  the  same  I  shall  always  protest  that 
Nevil  Fitzwaren  was  a  much  injured  man.  Moreover, 
now  that  the  call  to  arms  had  come  to  him,  nature  had 
thought  fit  to  invest  him  with  that  occult  power  that 
makes  a  man  a  leader  of  others.  I  could  not  have 
believed  such  a  transfiguration  to  be  possible.  He 

76 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  CAMPAIGN         77 

seemed  suddenly  to  emerge  as  the  possessor  of  a  stead- 
fastness of  purpose  and  a  strength  of  will  which  com- 
manded sympathy  in  almost  the  same  measure  that  his 
pathetic  helplessness  had  in  the  first  place  aroused  it. 

"Can  you  suggest  three  stout  fellows,  Arbuthnot? 
Gentlemen,  if  possible,  and  chaps  to  be  trusted.  Of 
course  they  will  have  to  know  the  why  and  wherefore 
of  it  all." 

Under  the  spell  that  Fitz  was  wielding  over  me  I 
became  the  victim  of  an  inspiration.  In  a  flash  there 
came  into  my  mind  the  three  gamesters  necessary  to 
complete  the  partie.  They  were  Jodey,  his  friend  in 
Jermyn  Street,  "who  had  had  lessons  from  Burns,"  and 
that  much  enduring  but  thoroughly  sound-hearted  fel- 
low, the  Master  of  the  Crackanthorpe.  For  an  instant 
I  reflected  with  the  Napoleonic  gaze  of  Fitz  upon  me. 
And  then  through  sheer  human  weakness  I  committed 
the  most  signal  indiscretion  of  which  a  tolerably  blame- 
less existence  had  ever  been  guilty.  I  permitted  the 
names  of  these  three  champions  to  cross  my  lips. 

Coverdale  turned  his  sombre  eyes  upon  me.  They 
were  devoid  of  anger,  but  extremely  full  of  sorrow. 

"You  old  fool!"  he  said  under  his  breath.  "You 
look  like  landing  us  fairly." 

"Well,"  whispered  the  egregious  I,  "we  can't  leave 
the  poor  chap  in  the  lurch  at  this  stage  of  the  proceed- 
ings, can  we?" 

"I  suppose  not ;  but  this  business  looks  like  costing 
me  my  billet.  Let  us  pray  God  he  don't  intend  to  shoot 
the  Ambassador." 

"Not  he,"  said  I,  assuming  a  cheerfulness  I  did  not 


78  MRS.    FITZ 

feel,  in  the  hope  of  minimising  my  lapse  from  the  strait 
way  of  prudence.  "He  is  a  very  sensible  fellow  and 
a  devilish  plucky  one." 

The  immediate  result  of  my  indiscretion  was  that  I 
was  urged  to  summon  my  relation  by  marriage,  in  order 
that  his  valuable  services  might  be  enlisted.  With  that 
end  in  view,  Parkins  was  sent  in  search  of  him.  He 
returned  all  too  soon  with  the  information  that  he  was 
over  at  the  Hall  playing  billiards  with  Lord  Br asset. 

"Two  birds  with  one  stone !"  said  Fitz  exultantly. 
"The  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  go  over  and  see  them." 

The  Hall  is  not  more  than  a  hundred  yards  or  so 
from  our  modest  demesne;  and  at  Fitz's  behest  we  set 
forth  in  quest  of  recruits. 

"Nice  state  o'  things !"  growled  Coverdale  en  route. 

In  due  course  we  were  ushered  into  Brasset's  billiard 
room.  The  owner  thereof  and  my  relation  by  marriage 
were  engaged  in  a  friendly  but  one-sided  game  of  shil- 
ling snooker.  The  latter,  in  accordance  with  his  in- 
variable practice  of  "putting  his  best  leg  first"  to  atone 
for  the  lifelong  handicap  of  having  been  born  a  younger 
son,  was  potting  three  times  the  number  of  balls  of 
his  charmingly  amiable  and  courteous  opponent. 

"Hullo,  you  fellows,"  said  Brasset.  "Take  a  cue  and 
join  us." 

The  presence  in  that  place  of  the  husband  of  Mrs. 
Fitz  was  wholly  unlooked-for,  but  neither  of  the  players 
betrayed  their  surprise.  Any  surprise  they  had  to  dis- 
play was  duly  forthcoming  later. 

Most  people  who  have  mixed  at  all  with  their  fellows 
are  more  or  less  finished  dissemblers.  But  Brasset  and 


79 

Jodey  were  by  no  means  proof  against  the  extraordi- 
nary tale  that  Fitz  had  come  to  unfold. 

"Heiress  to  oldest  reigning  family  in  Europe!"  ex- 
claimed Brasset,  whose  perturbation  and  bewilderment 
were  comic  in  the  extreme.  "In  that  case  she  had  an 
absolute  right  to  hit  me  over  the  head  with  her  crop, 
even  if  she  did  go  rather  far  in  overriding  Challenger." 

As  for  Joseph  Jocelyn  De  Vere  Vane-Anstruther,  his 
countenance  was  a  study. 

"Well,  I  always  said  she  was  it,"  he  murmured  rap- 
turously. 

"Stand  by  you  —  ra.-ther!"  said  Brasset.  "Only  too 
proud.  I've  got  a  beautiful  Colt  revolver  in  my  bureau. 
Shot  a  lion  with  it  in  Africa." 

"Then  you  ought  to  be  able  to  manage  an  ambas- 
sador in  Portland  Place,"  said  I. 


"It's  a  go  then?"  said  Fitz.  "I  can  count  on  you 
fellows  to  give  me  a  hand.  We  may  have  to  put  it 
across  that  swine  von  Arlenberg,  although  of  course  he 
is  merely  obeying  the  orders  of  Ferdinand." 

"Yes,  of  course." 

The  two  recruits  to  the  cause  of  the  Crown  Princess 
beamed  joyfully.  They  took  the  oath  of  fealty,  which 
merely  assumed  the  form  of  promising  to  dine  at  Ward's 
before  the  event,  and  promising  to  sup  at  the  Savoy 
after  it. 

The  sixth  person  essential  to  the  success  of  Fitz's 
scheme  was  the  unknown  sportsman  of  Jermyn  Street, 
who  had  had  lessons  from  Burns.  Jodey  was  emphatic 
in  his  declaration  that  his  friend,  whom  he  proclaimed 


80  MRS.    FITZ 

as  "the  amateur  middle  weight  champion  of  the  United 
Kingdom,"  would  be  only  too  eager  to  seize  one  of  the 
great  opportunities  of  his  life.  A  telegram  was  imme- 
diately concocted  for  this  paladin,  who  was  urged  to 
turn  up  at  Ward's  on  the  morrow  at  the  appointed  hour. 
"Bring  a  revolver  with  you.  There  will  be  a  bit  of  fun 
going  after  dinner,"  was  the  clause  that  the  author  of 
the  telegram  was  keenly  desirous  to  insert. 

Opinion  was  divided  as  to  the  wisdom  of  inserting 
the  clause  in  question.  To  the  shrewd  and  cautious 
official  mind,  as  represented  by  Coverdale,  it  would  be 
sufficient  to  urge  a  sensible  and  law-abiding  citizen  to 
give  the  proposed  dinner  party  a  wide  berth.  Person- 
ally, I  was  of  Coverdale's  opinion;  Fitz  and  Brasset 
"saw  nothing  out  of  the  way  in  it,"  while  its  author  was 
convinced  that  so  little  would  the  clause  in  question  be 
likely  to  deter  his  friend  O'Mulligan,  that  it  would 
invest  a  commonplace  invitation  to  dine  at  Ward's  and 
sup  at  the  Savoy  with  a  sufficient  spice  of  romance  to 
preclude  "the  best  sportsman  that  ever  came  out  of 
Ireland"  from  having  a  previous  engagement. 

Youth  will  be  served.  Jodey's  lucid  argument  car- 
ried weight  enough  for  the  telegram  to  be  sent  to 
Jermyn  Street  in  all  its  pristine  integrity.  Coverdale 
looked  rueful  all  the  same,  and  I  felt  his  gaze  of  grave 
reproach  upon  me.  The  leader  of  the  enterprise,  how- 
ever, was  far  from  sharing  the  misgivings  of  the  Chief 
Constable.  On  the  contrary,  he  felt  that  the  cause  of 
the  Princess  Sonia  had  gained  three  valuable  recruits. 

Certainly,  the  demeanour  of  Brasset  and  of  my  rela- 
tion by  marriage  left  nothing  to  be  desired  from  the 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  CAMPAIGN         81 

point  of  view  of  whole-heartedness.  They  were  only 
too  eager  to  embrace  the  opportunity  of  redressing  a 
notorious  wrong.  Coverdale  and  I  could  by  no  means 
rise  to  their  enthusiasm.  We  were  both  over  forty,  and 
at  that  time  of  life  the  average  man  cannot  evoke  that 
quality,  unless  it  is  in  the  pursuit  of  a  peerage,  but  in 
our  innermost  hearts  we  were  fain  to  feel  that  it  did 
them  honour. 

To  Brasset's  suggestion  that  we  should  dine  with  him 
that  evening,  in  order  that  we  might  evolve,  as  far  as 
in  us  lay,  a  plan  of  campaign,  we  yielded  a  ready  re- 
sponse. Incidentally,  it  may  be  well  to  state  that  Bras- 
set  is  unmarried,  and  that  his  mother  was  spending  the 
winter  at  San  Remo. 

It  was  in  sore  travail  of  the  spirit  that  I  walked  back 
to  Dympsfield  House,  and  proceeded  to  hunt  for  the 
weapon  which  was  kept  in  my  dressing-room  as  a  pre- 
caution against  burglars.  Ruefully  it  was  taken  from 
its  sanctuary  and  examined.  Then  I  went  in  search  of 
the  ruler  of  the  household.  Having  found  her  potter- 
ing about  the  greenhouse,  I  broke  the  news  that  I  was 
dining  out  that  evening,  and  that  on  the  morrow  duty 
called  me  to  the  metropolis,  because  I  feared  that  my 
aged  grandmother's  chronic  bronchitis  had  taken  a  turn 
for  the  worse. 

Both  these  announcements  were  accepted  with  more 
serenity  than  the  inward  monitor  had  led  me  to  antici- 
pate. 

"By  all  means  dine  with  Reggie  Br asset,  although  I 
think  it  is  very  wrong  of  him  not  to  ask  me.  •  And  by 
all  means  go  to  London  to-morrow  to  see  poor  dear 


82  MRS.    FITZ 

Gran,  and" — here  it  was  that  the  first  small  fly  was 
disclosed  in  the  ointment — "take  me.  Now  that  the 
weather  has  gone  all  to  pieces,  it  is  a  good  time  to  see 
the  new  plays ;  and  I  must  have  at  least  two  new  frocks 
and  one  of  those  chinchilla  coats  that  everybody  is 
wearing." 

There  are  occasions  when  the  most  reciprocal  nature 
may  regard  marriage  as  an  overrated  institution. 

"But,  my  dear  child,"  I  gasped,  "did  you  not  promise 
upon  your  sacred  word  of  honour  that  if  you  had  that 
mare  at  the  beginning  of  November,  you  would  not 
want  to  exceed  your  dress  allowance  before  the  sum- 
mer?" 

"Did  I?"  said  a  voice  of  bland  inquiry. 

"Did  you,  mon  enfant!" 

"But  then  you  see  the  poor  thing  has  been  lame  for 
quite  a  fortnight." 

It  was  man's  work  to  convince  Mrs.  Arbuthnot,  deli- 
cately, tenderly,  but  quite  firmly,  that  not  for  a  moment 
could  her  demands  be  entertained.  How  in  the  end  it 
was  contrived  I  shall  not  attempt  to  explain.  Who 
among  us  is  competent  to  render  these  hearthrug 
diplomacies  in  a  just  notation?  But  by  some  occult 
means  I  was  able  to  effect  a  compromise  upon  terms 
which  only  a  sanguine  temperament  could  have  hoped 
for.  I  was  to  be  permitted  to  dine  with  Brasset  and 
play  a  quiet  rubber  of  bridge,  and  on  the  morrow  I  was 
to  go  to  town  to  spend  the  week  end  with  my  grand- 
mother; in  consideration  of  which  benefits,  the  second 
party  to  the  contract  was  to  spend  the  week  end  with 
her  admirable  parents  at  Doughty  Bridge,  Yorks.,  and 


83 

become  the  recipient  of  a  sable  stole  and  an  oxydised 
silver  muff  chain. 

I  could  not  help  feeling  that  such  a  compact  was 
extremely  honourable  to  the  political  side  of  my  nature. 
I  had  been  prepared  for  pearl  earrings  or  a  new  opera 
cloak  at  the  least.  There  can  be  little  doubt  that  toler- 
ably regular  attendance  at  the  House  of  Commons  dur- 
ing the  course  of  three  sessions  does  not  a  little  to  equip 
a  man  for  the  more  complex  phases  of  civilised  life. 

Brasset's  impromptu  dinner  party  that  evening  was 
a  decided  success.  For  this  happy  result  he  was  not  a 
little  indebted  to  the  foresight  of  his  amiable  and  ever- 
lamented  father.  The  wine  was  excellent.  Even  the 
Chief  Constable,  who  looked  as  sombre  as  a  cardinal 
and  as  rueful  as  Don  Quixote,  swallowed  the  brown 
sherry  with  approbation,  toyed  with  the  lighter  vint- 
ages, sipped  the  port  wine  with  sage  approval,  admired 
the  old  brandy  and  told  one  of  the  best  stories  I  have 
ever  heard  in  my  life. 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  masterpiece  of  refined 
ribaldry,  Brasset  gave  a  peremptory  little  rap  on  the 
table  and  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "I  ask  you  to  drink  the  health 
of  the  Crown  Princess  of  Illyria.  May  God  defend 
the  right!  With  the  toast,  I  beg  to  be  allowed  to 
couple  the  name  of  our  friend  and  neighbour,  Mr.  Nevil 
Fitzwaren." 

The  toast  was  honoured  in  due  form. 

"Thank  you,  gentlemen,"  Fitz's  reply  was  made  with 
touching  simplicity.  "God  will  ever  defend  the  right. 
He  always  does.  But  I  thank  you  all  from  the  bottom 


84  MRS.  FITZ 

of  my  heart  for  standing  by  me  to  see  that  I  get  fair 
play.  It's  good  to  be  born  an  Englishman." 

"Hear,  hear;  quite  so,"  said  the  Chief  Constable. 

Out  of  the  corner  of  one  rueful  eye,  however,  the 
head  of  our  constabulary  favoured  me  with  a  glance 
that  was  at  once  whimsical  and  lugubrious.  The 
thought  was  ever-present  in  that  official  breast  that  the 
slightest  hitch  in  a  decidedly  precarious  adventure 
would  be  fraught  for  all  concerned  in  it  with  conse- 
quences which  he  did  not  care  to  contemplate. 


CHAPTER  IX 
ON  THE  EVE 

A  CALM  inquiry  into  the  case  rendered  it  inconceiv- 
able that  two  pillars  of  the  Constitution  should  commit 
themselves  irrevocably  to  a  scheme  of  action  whose  true 
sphere  was  the  boards  of  a  playhouse  or  the  pages  of 
a  lurid  romance.  By  what  lapse  of  the  reason  had  they 
permitted  themselves  to  drift  into  a  position  so  ludicrous 
yet  so  eminently  dangerous?  Possibly  it  was  right 
for  irresponsible  youth ;  possibly  it  was  right  for  men 
of  temperament  like  the  heroic  Fitz ;  but  for  Lieutenant 
Colonel  John  Chalmers  Coverdale,  C.M.G.,  late  of  His 
Majesty's  Carabineers,  and  Odo  Arbuthnot,  Member  of 
Parliament  for  the  Uppingdon  Division  of  Middleshire, 
it  was  confessedly  an  egregious  folly. 

We  were  both  past  the  age  when  such  a  scheme  would 
have  appealed  to  our  high  spirits  as  a  superior  sort  of 
"rag."  Once  embarked  upon  it,  who  should  say  whither 
it  might  lead?  It  was  impossible  to  foretell  the  course 
of  such  an  adventure.  Two  such  devotees  of  law  and 
order  did  well  to  entertain  misgivings,  even  with  the 
wine  cup  in  their  hands. 

As  far  as  the  other  side  of  the  picture  was  concerned, 
Fitz  was  fully  entitled  to  regard  himself  as  a  much 
injured  man.  It  is  true  that  in  the  first  instance  he 

85 


86  MRS.    FITZ 

had  taken  the  liberty  of  contracting  a  morganatic  mar- 
riage with  a  princess  in  the  direct  line  of  succession 
of  a  reigning  house.  But  in  a  country  like  ours,  where 
the  freedom  of  the  subject  and  the  right  of  the  indi- 
vidual to  shape  his  own  destiny  form  the  keystone  of  the 
arch  upon  which  the  fabric  of  society  is  raised,  it  was 
impossible  not  to  sympathise  keenly  with  Fitz.  All 
freeborn  Englishmen  could  not  fail  to  resent  the  inter- 
vention of  an  irresponsible  third  party,  who  was  reck- 
lessly determined  to  violate  a  tie  that  had  the  sanction 
of  God. 

Over  our  cigars,  when  the  servants  had  left  the  room, 
the  orders  for  the  morrow  were  discussed. 

"I  hope,  Fitzwaren,"  said  the  Chief  Constable,  "that 
you  fully  realise  the  extreme  gravity  of  your  under- 
taking. A  single  error  of  judgment,  a  single  slip  in 
your  mode  of  procedure  and  we  are  certain  to  find  our- 
selves very  badly  landed  indeed.  Personally,  I  hope 
very  much  that  you  will  leave  lethal  weapons  out  of 
the  case.  If  we  carry  them  we  run  up  against  the  law ; 
and  not  only  will  they  prejudice  our  cause  but  there 
is  no  saying  to  what  they  may  lead." 

"I  should  like,"  said  I,  "to  identify  myself  with  these 
remarks  of  Coverdale's.  I  concur  entirely." 

Fitz  removed  the  cigar  from  his  lips  and  leaned  back 
in  his  chair.  He  seemed  to  be  pondering  deeply. 

"I  respect  the  opinion  of  both  of  you,"  he  said, 
speaking  with  a  good  deal  of  deliberation  after  a  pause 
that  was  somewhat  lengthy.  "You  are  quite  right  in 
one  sense,  but  in  the  most  important  sense  of  all,  I  am 
sure  you  are  wrong.  I  should  like  everybody  who  is 


ON  THE  EVE  87 

going  into  this  business  to  understand  clearly  that  it 
is  most  likely  to  prove  extremely  serious.  We  must 
take  every  reasonable  precaution,  because  the  moment 
we  enter  von  Arlenberg's  house  we  carry  our  lives  in  our 
hands.  I  know  these  Illyrians ;  as  soon  as  they  under- 
stand our  game  they  will  use  no  ceremony.  Law  or  no 
law,  they  will  shoot  us  like  dogs  if  they  think  it  is 
necessary.  And  I  can  assure  you  they  will  think  it  is 
necessary,  unless  we  get  them  with  their  hands  up." 

"I  don't  like  lethal  weapons,"  said  the  Chief  Con- 
stable. 

"I  don't  like  them  either,"  said  Fitz,  "but  if  we  are 
to  come  through  with  this  business,  we  shall  be  com- 
pelled to  carry  them."  Suddenly  his  voice  sank.  "The 
truth  is,  this  game  is  so  dangerous,  that  I  don't  urge 
anybody  to  take  part  in  it.  Let  any  man  who  thinks 
the  cause  is  good  enough  follow  me  with  a  loaded  re- 
volver in  his  right  hand  trouser  pocket;  and  let  any 
man  who  doesn't  keep  out  of  it,  and  I  shall  be  the  last 
to  blame  him." 

In  the  language  there  may  not  have  been  persuasive- 
ness, but  there  was  a  good  deal  in  the  tone.  Fitz's  man- 
ner was  that  of  a  leader  of  others ;  of  one  who  foresaw 
the  risks  he  incurred;  who  embraced  them  deliberately; 
who  having  once  formed  his  plan  stuck  to  it  whatever 
it  might  entail. 

Coverdale  had  seen  service  in  Zululand,  the  Trans- 
vaal and  in  Egypt ;  Brasset  and  I  had  borne  a  humble 
share  in  the  recent  transactions  in  South  Africa;  yet 
in  an  unconscious  way  we  were  all  susceptible  to  the 
play  of  a  powerful  will  and  a  magnetic  personality. 


88  MRS.    FITZ 

Cynics  may  say  it  was  the  wine  that  turned  the  scale — 
the  juice  of  the  grape  is  the  fount  of  many  a  hardy 
resolution — but  I  prefer  to  think  it  was  the  quality  of 
Fitz  himself.  Retreat  at  the  eleventh  hour  might  have 
been  construed  as  dishonourable,  but  men  like  Coverdale 
had  no  need  to  be  fantastically  nice  upon  the  point  of 
honour.  It  was,  I  think,  that  Fitz  carried  conviction. 
His  was  the  inestimable  gift  of  rising  with  his  theme. 
Heaven  knew!  the  enterprise  was  foolhardy,  but  the 
man  himself  was  a  good  one  to  follow. 

All  the  same,  when  we  adjourned  our  meeting  with 
the  compact  that  we  should  assemble  at  Middleham 
railway  station  on  the  morrow  in  time  to  catch  the  3.30 
to  London,  I  went  home  in  a  state  of  depression.  Were 
I  to  have  been  hanged  at  cock  crow,  I  could  not  have 
found  my  bed  more  unsympathetic.  Most  of  the  night 
I  lay  awake  in  a  state  of  the  most  unworthy  appre- 
hension. The  very  intangibility  of  the  business  of  the 
morrow  seemed  to  make  it  a  nightmare.  Had  it  been 
a  duel,  or  a  definite  pitting  of  one  known  force  against 
another,  it  would  have  seemed  less  uncomfortable,  less 
sinister.  As  it  was,  we  did  not  know  precisely  to  what 
we  stood  committed.  The  thing  might  prove  merely 
farcical.  On  the  contrary,  it  might  involve  battle, 
murder  and  sudden  death. 

A  dozen  times  in  the  dismal  darkness  the  question  was 
put,  by  what  chain  of  events  had  a  mildly  egoistical 
hedonist,  the  husband  of  a  charming  lady,  the  father  of 
a  merry  blue-eyed  daughter,  with  a  reasonable  com- 
petence and  an  ambition  to  excel  at  golf,  come  to  imperil 


ON  THE  EVE  89 

all  these  delectable  things?  Merely  at  the  beck  of  a 
wild-living  profligate  who  felt  he  had  been  wronged. 

Stated  as  bluntly  as  this  in  the  high  court  of  reason 
the  whole  thing  seemed  absurd.  There  was  so  much  to 
lose  and  so  little  to  gain.  The  scheme  was  preposterous. 
Nevil  Fitzwaren  might  certainly  be  the  victim  of  an 
injustice,  but  what  of  Miss  Lucinda  and  her  mama? 
True,  Coverdale  was  also  a  party  to  the  scheme ;  but 
he  was  by  nature  adventurous,  a  seeker  after  something 
fresh.  To  be  sure  he  imperilled  his  billet,  but  he  was 
understood  to  have  private  means. 

"Odo  Arbuthnot,"  said  the  thin  voice  of  reason  at 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  "you  must  withdraw  from 
this  incredibly  foolish  and  reprehensible  proceeding." 

Howbeit  the  voice  of  reason  never  sways  us  entirely. 
Accordingly  I  made  a  particularly  feeble  breakfast, 
wrote  a  letter  to  my  grandmother  in  Bolton  Street,  sped 
the  Madam,  looking  supremely  gay  and  engaging,  on 
the  way  to  her  fond  parents  at  Doughty  Bridge,  Yorks., 
read  the  immortal  story  of  "The  Three  Bears"  to  Miss 
Lucinda  for  the  thousand  and  first  time,  carefully  over- 
hauled the  six-chambered  weapon  which  a  professional 
criminal  had  yet  to  put  to  the  test,  and  in  a  miserable 
frame  of  mind  sat  down  to  luncheon  in  the  company  of 
my  relation  by  marriage. 

It  may  be  that  the  holy  state  of  wedlock  makes 
cowards  of  us  all.  Joseph  Jocelyn  De  Vere  Vane- 
Anstruther  was  certainly  not  embarrassed  by  such 
qualms  as  these.  He  was  even  more  serenely  magnifi- 
cent than  usual  in  a  suit  of  grey  tweeds  aggressively 
checked  and  a  waistcoat  that  was  conducting  a  violent 


90  MRS.     FITZ 

quarrel  with  a  Zingari  necktie;  while  his  air  of  hopeful 
enjoyment  of  life  as  it  was  and  as  it  was  going  to  be, 
provoked  some  rather  pregnant  reflections  upon  the 
crime  of  homicide. 

"O'Mulligan's  wired.     Mad  keen.     A  regular  nut." 

The  well  of  English  undefiled  grows  more  copious 
with  the  process  of  ages.  By  what  mysterious  alchemy 
the  quality  of  mad  keenness  transforms  its  possessor 
into  a  "regular  nut"  I  was  too  low-spirited  to  elucidate. 

"Fitz  is  a  game  bird,  ain't  he?"  Flamboyant  youth 
heartily  poured  half  a  bottle  of  Worcestershire  sauce 
over  its  cutlet.  "Didn't  think  he  had  it  in  him.  Merely 
shows  how  you  can  be  deceived." 

I  groaned  in  spirit,  but  plucked  up  the  courage  to 
take  a  dismal  nibble  at  a  piece  of  toast. 

"That  chap  Coverdale  is  a  bit  of  a  funkstick.  Made 
himself  rather  an  ass  about  those  firearms." 

I  assented  feebly. 

"Bet  you  a  pony  they  want  our  photographs  for  the 
Morning  Mirror." 

I  rose  from  the  table  and  took  a  turn  in  the  kitchen 
garden.  When  your  heart  is  fairly  in  your  boots,  the 
society  of  your  peers  has  its  drawbacks. 

At  half  past  two,  punctual  to  the  minute,  the  toot 
of  the  car  was  heard  at  the  hall  door.  Miss  Lucinda 
received  a  parting  salute  and  an  illicit  box  of  chocolates 
which  consoled  her  immensely  for  the  temporary  loss — 
permanent  perhaps  in  the  case  of  one — of  both  her 
parents. 

I  confess  to  being  one  of  those  weak  mortals  who  on 
a  journey  is  invariably  accompanied  by  the  conscious- 


ON  THE  EVE  91 

ness  of  having  left  something  undone  or  having  omitted 
to  pack  some  unremembered  but  quite  indispensable 
necessary.  Three-fourths  of  the  way  to  the  station  I 
was  haunted  with  this  feeling  in  a  more  acute  form 
than  usual,  and  then  quite  suddenly,  with  a  spasm  of 
perverse  joy,  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  had  left  the 
burglar's  foe  in  its  secret  receptacle. 

"Thank  God  for  that !"  was  the ,  pious  hyperbole 
which  ascended  to  heaven. 

At  the  station  we  were  not  the  first  to  arrive  on  the 
scene,  although  there  was  a  full  quarter  of  an  hour  in 
hand.  Fitz  in  a  fur  overcoat  of  some  pretensions  bore 
a  look  of  collected  importance  which  was  quite  in  keep- 
ing with  the  role  he  had  to  fill. 

"Tickets  are  taken,"  said  he,  "and  carriage  reserved 
for  five." 

In  front  of  the  bookstall  a  yellow  newsbill  displayed 
the  contents  of  a  London  evening  paper,  issued  at  noon. 
"The  Attempt  on  the  Life  of  the  King  of  Illyria.  Lat- 
est details." 

"Clumsy  fools,"  said  the  son-in-law  of  Ferdinand  the 
Twelfth  gloomily.  "They  seem  to  have  bungled  the 
business  badly,  but  they  bungle  everything  in  Illyria." 

"His  Excellency,  the  Ambassador,  would  appear  to 
be  an  exception  to  the  general  rule." 

Fitz  bestowed  upon  me  a  murderous  glower. 

Brasset  arrived  full  five  minutes  in  advance  of  the 
London  express.  Pink  and  cherubic,  his  recent  per- 
plexity had  yielded  to  an  omnipresent  look  of  peace. 
His  well-groomed  air  suggested  that  he  took  a  simple 
pleasure  in  being  alive. 


92  MRS.    FITZ 

The  question,  however,  for  the  four  conspirators 
assembled  on  the  Middleham  platform  was,  what  had 
happened  to  the  Chief  Constable?  Was  it  conceivable 
that  the  noble  Brutus  had  left  us  in  the  lurch?  Remem- 
bering my  own  travail  of  the  spirit,  which  still  endured, 
it  seemed  most  natural  and  becoming  to  my  partial 
judgment,  that  one  so  wise  had  repented  of  his  folly 
at  the  eleventh  hour. 

Howbeit,  my  lips  were  sealed  upon  these  illicit 
thoughts.  Fitz  himself  suspected  no  treachery.  He 
ushered  us  into  the  reserved  compartment  with  immense 
dignity,  and  retained  the  left  hand  corner  seat,  with 
the  back  to  the  engine,  for  the  missing  warrior. 

"Coverdale  is  cutting  it  fine,"  I  ventured  to  remark. 

"There  is  a  minute  yet,"  said  Fitz  with  an  in- 
souciance which,  to  use  a  much-abused  expression,  was 
Napoleonic. 

A  porter  who  suffered  from  rickets  put  in  his  head. 

"All  London,  gentlemen?" 

"Yes,"  said  Fitz,  introducing  a  shilling  to  a  grimy 
but  willing  palm.  "And  just  see  that  the  station-master 
keeps  the  train  a  few  minutes  for  Colonel  Coverdale." 

"Agen  the  regulations  you  know,  sir,"  said  the  porter 
with  polite  misgiving. 

"Against  what  regulations?"  said  the  undefeated 
Fitz. 

"The  Company's." 

"Against  the  Company's  regulations !  Who  the  devil 
are  the  Company  that  they  should  have  regulations?" 

This  was  a  poser  for  the  porter,  who  made  a  rather 
ineffectual  apology  for  such  a  piece  of  assumption  on 


ON  THE  EVE  93 

the  part  of  the  Company.  But  the  station-master's 
bell  was  ringing,  and  I,  peering  wildly  through  the 
window,  in  the  vain  hope  that  my  mentor,  my  hope, 
my  stand-by  might  after  all  appear,  could  see  never  a 
sign  of  Lieutenant  Colonel  John  Chalmers  Coverdale, 
C.M.G.,  late  of  His  Majesty's  Carabineers. 


CHAPTER  X 

ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS 

BUT  what  is  that?  A  commotion  away  up  the  plat- 
form, under  the  clock.  Yes,  it  is  he,  the  faithful  and 
the  valiant!  At  least  it  is  not  he,  but  one  Baguley,  a 
superannuated  police  sergeant,  bereft  of  an  eye  in  the 
service  of  the  public  peace.  He  staggers  along  under 
the  oppressive  burden  of  a  kit  bag  of  portentous  di- 
mensions, and  twenty  paces  behind,  sauntering  along 
the  platform  with  the  most  leisurely  nonchalance  in 
the  world,  blandly  indifferent  to  the  fact  that  the  Lon- 
don express  is  due  out,  is  the  impressive  and  slightly 
pompous  bulk  of  the  fifth  conspirator,  the  great  Chief 
Constable. 

There  is  a  tremendous  touching  of  hats  along  the 
platform.  Even  that  true  Olympian,  the  guard  of  the 
London  express,  contrives  to  dissemble  his  legitimate 
impatience,  while  Coverdale  and  his  kit  bag  come  aboard 
the  reserved  compartment. 

"Cutting  it  rather  fine,  weren't  you?"  said  I  with  a 
tremor  of  relief  in  my  voice. 

"Time  enough,"  said  the  Chief  Constable,  subsiding 
with  a  growl  and  a  glower  into  the  left  hand  corner. 

A  shrill  blast  from  the  guard,  a  whistle  and  a  snort 
from  the  engine,  and  we  were  irrevocably  committed 
to  the  untender  hands  of  destiny. 

94 


ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS  95 

We  were  an  ill-assorted  party  enough.  Fitz  the 
embodiment  of  masterful  determination,  with  his  black 
eyes  glowing  with  their  inward  fire ;  Brasset  and  Jodey 
as  cheerful  and  almost  as  blase  as  two  undergraduates 
on  their  way  to  attend  a  point-to-point  race  meeting ; 
and  Coverdale  and  the  humble  individual  responsible 
for  this  narrative,  silent,  saturnine  and  profoundly 
uncomfortable. 

It  is  true  that  I  was  favoured  with  one  fragment  of 
the  Chief  Constable's  discourse.  It  was  communicated 
with  pregnant  brevity  ten  miles  from  Bedford. 

"You  old  fool !"  was  its  context. 

"It  was  Fitz  who  kept  the  train  for  you,"  I  countered 
weakly. 

Whoever  was  to  blame  we  were  fairly  in  for  it  now ; 
and  to  repine  was  vain. 

"I  am  glad  about  your  friend  O'What's-his-name," 
said  Fitz  to  Jodey.  "A  man  of  his  hands,  hey?  By 
the  way,  I  believe  you  did  mention  a  revolver." 

My  relation  by  marriage  grinned  an  almost  disgust- 
ingly effusive  affirmative. 

"I  suppose  you  fellows  have  all  remembered  to  bring 
one !" 

Somehow  my  looks  bewrayed  me. 

"You've  brought  one,  Arbuthnot  ?" 

I  began  to  perspire. 

"The  fact  is,"  said  I,  "I  had  a  capital  .38  Webley, 
but  it  appears  to  be  mislaid." 

"That  can  easily  be  remedied.  I  have  brought  three 
in  case  of  emergency." 

"How  lucky,"  said  I  with  insincerity. 


96  MRS.    FITZ 

We  were  converging  upon  the  metropolis  all  too  soon. 

"I  have  engaged  six  bedrooms  at  Long's  Hotel,"  said 
Fitz. 

"Only  five  will  be  necessary,"  said  I,  "as  O'Mulligan 
lives  in  Jermyn  Street." 

"You  have  forgotten  Sonia." 

It  is  true  that  for  the  moment  I  had  forgotten  the 
cause  of  all  our  woes.  Fitz  had  not  however;  indeed, 
he  had  forgotten  nothing.  Not  only  did  he  appear  to 
have  everything  arranged,  but  he  seemed  to  have  taken 
cognisance  of  the  smallest  detail. 

"I  have  ordered  quite  a  decent  little  dinner  at 
Ward's,"  said  he.  "You  can  always  depend  upon  good 
plain,  solid,  old-fashioned  English  cooking.  They  give 
you  the  best  mulligatawney  in  London.  I  must  say 
myself,  that  if  I  have  to  do  a  man's  work,  I  like  to 
have  a  man's  meal.  And  I  think  we  can  depend  on  some 
very  decent  madeira." 

"It  is  very  satisfactory  to  know  that,"  said  Cover- 
dale  with  his  deepest  growl. 

"There  is  nothing  like  madeira  in  my  opinion,"  said 
Fitz,  "if  you  are  going  to  be  busy  and  you  want  to 
keep  cool." 

"That  is  something  to  know,"  said  the  Chief  Con- 
stable without  enthusiasm. 

"I  should  think  it  was,"  said  Fitz.  "Do  you  know 
who  gave  me  the  tip  ?" 

The  Chief  Constable  gave  a  growl  in  the  negative. 

"Ferdinand  himself.  And  what  that  old  swine  don't 
know  of  most  things,  is  not  much  in  the  way  of  knowl- 
edge. He  once  told  me  he  practically  lived  on  madeira 


97 

throughout  the  Austrian  campaign  and  the  night  be- 
fore Rodova  he  drank  six  bottles.  He  says  nothing 
keeps  you  so  cool  and  sharp  as  madeira." 

"Umph,"  the  Chief  Constable  grunted. 

Brasset  and  Jodey,  however,  two  extremely  zealous 
subalterns  in  the  Middleshire  Yeomanry,  were  much 
impressed. 

In  three  taxis  we  converged  upon  Long's  Hotel; 
Brasset  and  Jodey  in  the  first ;  the  Chief  Constable  and 
his  kit  bag  in  the  second ;  Fitz  and  myself  in  the  third. 
A  very  respectable  blizzard  was  raging ;  the  streets  of 
the  metropolis  were  in  a  truly  horrid  condition,  wholly 
unfit  for  man  or  beast ;  and  the  atmosphere  had  the 
peculiar  raw  chill  of  a  thoroughly  disagreeable  win- 
ter's night  in  London.  But  at  every  yard  we  slopped 
precariously  through  the  half  melted  slush  of  the 
streets,  Fitz  seemed  to  wax  more  Napoleonic.  He  was 
not  in  any  sense  aggressive;  there  was  not  a  trace  of 
undue  mental  or  moral  elevation,  yet  he  was  the  pos- 
sessor of  a  subtle  quality  that  seemed  to  render  him 
eqMal  to  any  occasion. 

"There  is  just  one  thing  may  undo  us,"  he  confessed 
to  me. 

"Fate?" 

"No;  to  my  mind  fate  is  never  your  master,  if  you 
really  mean  to  be  master  of  it.  But  there  may  be  a  spy. 
Von  Arlenberg  is  as  cunning  as  a  fox.  And  if  he  thinks 
I  may  have  something  to  say  in  the  matter,  he  will  take 
care  that  nothing  is  done  without  his  knowledge.  Prob- 
ably we  are  being  followed." 

To  test  his  grounds  for  this  suspicion,  Fitz  suddenly 


98  MRS.    FITZ 

ordered  the  driver  to  stop.  He  thrust  his  head  out 
of  the  window,  and  then  an  instant  later  told  our  Jehu 
to  drive  on. 

"Just  as  I  thought,"  he  said.  "There  is  another 
taxi  behind." 

My  companion  became  silent. 

"Something  will  have  to  be  done,"  he  said.  "It  won't 
do  for  von  Arlenberg  to  know  too  much." 

During  the  remainder  of  the  journey  Fitz  found  not 
a  word  to  say. 

When  we  came  to  the  quiet  family  hotel  in  Bond 
Street  our  leader  seemed  still  preoccupied.  Certainly 
he  had  grounds  for  his  foreboding.  A  fourth  taxi  drew 
up  behind  the  three  vehicles  we  had  chartered;  and  I 
observed  that  a  man  got  out  of  it,  and  discharging  his 
taxi,  entered  the  hotel.  As  he  passed  me  I  was  careful 
to  note  his  appearance.  He  was  a  short,  sallow,  foreign 
looking  individual,  with  the  collar  of  his  overcoat  turned 
up ;  a  commonplace  creature  enough,  who  on  most  occa- 
sions would  pass  without  a  remark. 

While  we  enquired  for  our  rooms,  he  sat  in  the  lounge 
unobtrusively.  Save  for  Fitz's  own  conviction  upon  the 
point,  it  would  never  have  occurred  to  me  that  we  were 
undergoing  a  process  of  espionage. 

No  sooner  had  Fitz  secured  his  room,  than  he  said 
in  a  tone  considerably  louder  than  he  used  as  a  rule, 
that  he  had  some  business  to  see  after,  and  that  he 
would  be  back  in  an  hour. 

The  man  seated  in  the  lounge  could  not  fail  to  hear 
this  announcement.  And  sure  enough,  hardly  had  Fitz 


99 

passed  out  of  the  hotel,  when  the  fellow  rose  and  also 
took  his  leave. 

"What  is  Fitzwaren's  game  now?"  inquired  Cover- 
dale. 

I  refrained  from  advancing  any  theory  as  to  the 
nature  of  Fitz's  game.  For  that  matter,  I  had  no 
theory  to  advance.  It  was  clear  enough  that  the  leader 
of  our  enterprise  was  fully  justified  in  his  suspicion,  but 
what  his  sagacity  would  profit  him,  I  was  wholly  at  a 
loss  to  divine.  I  was  convinced  that  the  business  that 
had  called  him  so  suddenly  into  the  sleet-laden  dark- 
ness of  the  streets  had  to  do  with  the  man  who  had 
passed  out  of  the  hotel  upon  his  heels;  yet  precisely 
what  that  business  was,  it  was  futile  to  conjecture. 

Prior  to  our  departure  for  Ward's,  the  time  hung 
upon  our  hands  somewhat  heavily.  Brasset  and  Jodey 
utilised  some  of  it  in  bestowing  even  more  pains  than 
usual  upon  their  appearance.  In  these  days  it  is  not 
necessary  to  don  powder,  ruffles  and  a  brocaded  waist- 
coat for  the  purpose  of  dining  at  Ward's,  but  there 
is  an  unwritten  law  which  expects  you  to  wear  a  white 
vest  at  least  with  your  evening  clothes.  Even  Cover- 
dale  and  I  thought  well  to  comply  with  this  sumptuary 
law.  We  were  both  past  the  age  when  one's  tailor  is 
omnipotent;  but  when  in  Rome,  those  who  would  be 
thought  men  of  the  world  are  careful  to  do  like  the 
Romans. 

Four  carefully  groomed  specimens  of  British  man- 
hood greeted  Fitz  in  the  hotel  foyer  upon  his  return. 
It  was  then  five  minutes  to  seven,  and  our  mentor  entered 
in  a  perfectly  cool  and  collected  manner.  He  apolo- 


100  MRS.    FITZ 

gised,  perhaps  a  thought  deliberately,  for  the  necessity 
which  had  deprived  us  of  his  society.  Twenty  minutes 
later  he  was  looking  as  spick  and  span  as  the  rest 
of  us. 

While  the  hotel  porter  was  whistling  up  the  necessary 
means  for  our  conveyance  to  Saint  James's  Street,  I 
found  Fitz  at  my  elbow. 

"By  the  way,"  said  he  in  a  casual  undertone,  "did 
you  mention  to  the  others  about  the  fellow  who  followed 
us  in  the  taxi?" 

My  answer  was  in  the  negative. 

"I'm  glad  of  that.  I  think  it  will  be  wise  if  you 
don't.  It  might  worry  them,  you  know.  And  there 
is  no  need  to  worry  about  him  now." 

"Have  you  thrown  him  off  the  scent?" 

"Yes,"  said  Fitz  quietly.  "We  shall  have  no  more 
trouble  from  that  sportsman." 

I  forebore  to  allow  my  curiosity  any  further  rein 
upon  this  subject.  Beneath  Fitz's  cool  and  cordial  tone 
was  a  suggestion  that  he  would  thank  me  to  dismiss  it. 
Howbeit,  I  had  no  hint  as  to  what  had  happened  outside 
in  the  street,  and  I  was  burning  to  know. 

It  was  a  minute  past  the  half  hour  when  we  arrived 
at  Ward's,  but  the  punctual  O'Mulligan  was  there 
already.  He  rejoiced  in  the  name  of  Alexander;  his 
freckles  were  many  and  he  had  a  shock  of  red  hair. 
His  nose  was  of  the  snub  variety;  his  ears  stuck  out 
at  right  angles ;  his  eyes  were  light  green ;  and  his 
jaw  was  square  and  massive  and  the  most  magnificently 
aggressive  the  mind  of  man  can  conceive.  Regarded 
from  the  purely  aesthetic  standpoint,  Alexander  O'Mul- 


ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS  101 

ligan  might  be  a  subject  for  discussion,  yet  he  was  as 
full  of  "points"  as  a  prize  bulldog.  He  was  not  so  tall 
as  Coverdale,  but  every  ounce  of  him  was  solid  muscle ; 
his  chest  was  deep  and  spreading,  his  hands  were  corded 
and  he  had  the  grip  of  a  garrotter. 

Alexander  O'Mulligan  shook  hands  all  around  with  the 
greatest  comprehensiveness.  As  he  did  so  he  grinned 
from  ear  to  ear  in  the  sheer  joy  of  acquaintance- 
ship. Fitz  was  his  first  victim  and  I  was  his  last,  but 
each  of  us  would  as  lief  shake  hands  with  a  gibbon  as 
with  our  friend  O'Mulligan.  The  fellow  was  so  abom- 
inably hearty.  He  shook  hands  as  though  it  was  the 
thing  of  all  others  he  loved  doing  best  in  the  world. 

The  dinner  was  admirable.  Whether  it  was  force 
of  example,  or  the  magnetic  presence  of  Alexander 
O'Mulligan,  I  am  not  prepared  to  say,  but  certainly 
we  did  ourselves  very  well.  Upon  first  entering  the 
hallowed  precincts  of  Ward's,  I  had  been  in  no  mood 
to  appreciate  "really  good  old-fashioned  English  cook- 
ing." One  would  have  thought  that  only  the  most 
recherche  of  dinners  would  have  tempted  us  in  our  pres- 
ent state  of  mind.  But  somehow  our  new  friend  O'Mul- 
ligan dispensed  an  atmosphere  of  Gargantuan  good 
humour. 

Hardly  had  we  come  to  close  quarters  with  the  far- 
famed  mulligatawney,  which  was  quite  appropriate  to 
the  conditions  prevailing  without,  when  our  latest 
recruit  insisted  that  one  and  all  must  dine  with  him 
on  the  morrow,  and  then  adjourn  to  the  National 
Sporting  Club,  for  the  purpose  of  witnessing  "Burns's 
go  with  the  gunner." 


102  MRS.    FITZ 

If  I  live  to  the  age  of  a  hundred  and  twenty,  I  shall 
not  forget  our  little  dinner  at  Ward's.  Six  common- 
place specimens  of  les  hommes  moyens  sensuels  with 
lethal  weapons  in  their  pockets  and  anything  from  pitch 
and  toss  to  manslaughter  in  their  hearts !  Really,  it 
was  the  incongruous  carried  to  the  verge  of  the  bizarre. 

Fitz  at  the  head  of  the  table  was  gracious  to  a  degree. 
The  fellow  was  revealing  a  whole  gamut  of  unsuspected 
qualities.  His  composure,  his  half  gay,  half  sinister 
insouciance,  his  alertness,  his  knowledge,  his  faculty  for 
action,  which  seemed  to  grow  in  proportion  with  the 
demands  that  were  made  upon  it,  such  an  array  of 
qualities  was  curiously  inconsistent  with  the  heedless 
waster  the  world  had  always  judged  him  to  be. 

Now  that  he  had  come  to  grips  with  fate  the  real 
Nevil  Fitzwaren  was  emerging  with  considerable 
potency.  As  far  as  "the  married  man,  the  father  of 
the  family  and  the  county  member"  was  concerned  the 
fellow's  daemonic  power  was  the  cause  of  his  dining 
quite  reasonably  well.  As  for  Coverdale,  after  swallow- 
ing his  plate  of  mulligatawney,  his  glance  ceased  to 
reproach  me.  His  habitual  philosophy  and  the  old- 
fashioned  English  cooking  began  to  walk  hand  in  hand. 
The  evening's  business  was  quite  likely  to  cost  him  his 
billet,  but  at  least  it  was  sure  to  be  excellent  fun. 
Besides,  when  he  stood  committed  to  a  thing,  it  was  his 
habit  to  see  it  through. 

Dinner  was  conducted  in  the  spirit  of  leisurely  har- 
mony which  is  due  to  the  traditions  accruing  to  the 
shade  of  John  Ward  who  left  this  vale  of  tears  in  1720. 
Fitz  assured  us  that  there  was  no  hurry.  If  we  got  a 


103 

move  on  about  nine  we  should  have  plenty  of  time  to  do 
our  business  with  his  Excellency. 

"You  haven't  quite  explained  the  orders  for  the  day, 
my  dear  fellow,"  said  Coverdale,  taking  a  reverential 
sip  of  the  famous  old  brandy. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  ORDERS  FOR  THE  DAY 

"THE  orders  for  the  day  don't  need  much  explana- 
tion," said  Fitz.  "Merely  see  that  there  are  six  cart- 
ridges in  your  revolver;  keep  it  in  your  trouser  pocket 
with  your  hand  on  it,  and  then  follow  the  man  from 
Cook's." 

"Like  all  schemes  of  the  first  magnitude,"  said  I,  "it 
appears  to  be  simplicity  itself." 

"It  is  this  confounded  revolver  business,"  said  Cover- 
dale,  "that  I  should  like  to  see  dispensed  with.  It  might 
so  easily  land  us  in  serious  trouble." 

"It  is  far  more  likely  to  land  us  out  of  serious 
trouble,"  said  Fitz.  "But  this  I  can  promise:  they 
will  not  be  produced  except  in  the  last  resort." 

It  was  clear  that  the  question  of  the  revolvers  had 
made  Coverdale  as  uneasy  as  it  had  made  me;  but  the 
only  thing  to  be  done  now  was  to  pin  implicit  faith  upon 
the  sameness  of  Fitz's  judgment.  Certainly  he  had 
aroused  respect.  His  method  of  communicating  to 
Alexander  O'Mulligan  the  nature  of  the  cause  and 
the  need  for  absolute  obedience  to  the  word  of  command 
appeared  to  kindle  awe  and  admiration  in  equal  parts 
in  the  breast  of  the  middle  weight  champion  of  the 
United  Kingdom. 

104 


THE  ORDERS  FOR  THE  DAY  105 

"Do  exactly  as  you  are  told,  O'Mulligan,  and  do 
nothing  without  orders,  unless  they  begin  to  shoot,  and 
then  you  begin  to  shoot  too.  By  the  way,  Arbuthnot, 
did  I  understand  you  to  say  you  had  forgotten  to  bring 
a  revolver?" 

I  admitted  the  impeachment. 

"I  have  several  spare  ones  in  my  overcoat" — the 
tone  of  reproof  was  delicate.  "Is  there  anyone  else 
who  has  forgotten  to  provide  himself  with  one?" 

"There  is  also  a  spare  one  at  my  rooms  round  the 
corner,"  said  Alexander  O'Mulligan,  with  an  air  of 
modest  pride. 

Fitz  honoured  the  new  recruit  with  a  nod  of  curt 
approval.  In  any  assembly  of  lawbreakers  the  Bayard 
from  Jermyn  Street  would  be  sure  of  a  hearty  welcome. 
His  face  had  expanded  to  the  most  moonlike  propor- 
tions, which  the  freckles  and  the  prominent  ears  set 
off  fantastically ;  and  in  the  green  eyes  was  a  look  of 
genuine  ecstasy,  beside  which  the  emotion  in  those  of 
Brasset  and  Jodey  was  mere  hopeful  expectation. 

Fitz  took  out  his  watch  and  studied  it  with  the  air 
of  the  Man  of  Destiny. 

"Fourteen  minutes  to  nine,"  said  he.  "At  nine 
o'clock  I  shall  drive  alone  to  No.  300  Portland  Place, 
in  a  taxi.  At  four  minutes  past  nine,  Coverdale  and 
Arbuthnot  will  follow.  They  will  ask  for  the  Ambas- 
sador, Coverdale  giving  the  name  of  General  Drago, 
and  Arbuthnot  the  name  of  Count  Alexis  Zbynska. 
You  will  be  shown  into  a  waiting-room  while  your  names 
are  taken  in  to  his  Excellency.  If  he  is  in,  he  will 
receive  you ;  if  he  is  not.  Grindberg,  or  one  of  the  other 


106  MRS.    FITZ 

secretaries,  or  one  of  the  attaches,  will  have  a  word 
with  you.  Keep  your  mufflers  up  to  your  ears  and  have 
the  collars  of  your  overcoats  turned  up.  If  von  Arlen- 
berg is  not  in,  say  you  will  wait  for  him.  You  can  use 
Illyrian,  or  French,  or  broken  English.  Of  course  your 
object,  in  any  case,  will  be  to  gain  time  and  keep  in 
the  house  until  you  receive  further  instructions.  Am 
I  clear?" 

"Reasonably  clear,"  said  Coverdale.  "If  we  gain 
access  to  the  house  we  are  not  to  leave  it  until  we  hear 
from  you?" 

"That  is  so." 

"And  what  about  Alec  and  Brasset  and  me?"  The 
earnestness  of  my  relation  by  marriage  was  wistful. 

"O'Mulligan  will  leave  four  minutes  after  Coverdale 
and  Arbuthnot.  He  will  merely  give  his  name  as  Cap- 
tain Forbes,  who  desires  to  fix  an  appointment  with 
von  Arlenberg  upon  a  private  matter  of  importance. 
He  won't  be  able  to  fix  it ;  but  they  will  send  a  chap  to 
talk  to  you,  O'Mulligan.  You  must  be  very  long- 
winded  and  you  must  use  your  best  English,  and  you 
must  waste  as  much  time  as  you  can.  Understand?" 

O'Mulligan  beamed  like  a  seraph. 

"And  Brasset  and  me?"  said  the  pleading  voice. 

"Brasset  will  leave  four  minutes  after  O'Mulligan. 
He  will  be  Mr.  Bonser,  a  messenger  from  the  Foreign 
Office,  with  a  letter  for  von  Arlenberg.  Here  you  are, 
Brasset,  here  is  the  letter  for  von  Arlenberg." 

With  a  matter-of-factness  which  was  really  inimit- 
able, Fitz  tossed  across  the  tablecloth  the  missive  in 
question,  copiously  daubed  with  red  sealing  wax. 


THE  ORDERS  FOR  THE  DAY  107 

"Brasset,"  said  Fitz,  "you  will  be  careful  not  to  give 
this  most  important  letter  into  the  keeping  of  anybody 
save  and  except  his  Excellency,  Baron  von  Arlenberg, 
Ambassador  and  Plenipotentiary  Extraordinary  to  his 
Majesty  the  King  of  Illyria,  at  the  Court  of  Saint 
James." 

"I  hope  the  superscription  is  correct,"  said  I,  mis- 
guidedly. 

Fitz  looked  me  down  with  the  eye  of  a  Frederick. 
The  sympathy  of  the  table  was  with  him  entirely. 

"Somebody  will  want  to  take  it  to  the  Ambassador," 
said  Fitz.  "But,  Brasset,  your  instructions  are  that 
you  deliver  this  document  to  his  Excellency  in  person." 

With  an  air  of  reverence,  Brasset  inserted  the  letter 
with  its  portentous  red  seal  in  his  cigar-case.  The  most 
exacting  of  ministers  could  not  have  desired  a  more 
trustworthy  or  a  more  eminently  discreet  custodian 
for  an  epoch-making  document  than  the  Master  of  the 
Crackanthorpe. 

"How  shall  I  know  old  von  Thingamy  when  I  see 
him?"  inquired  the  messenger  from  the  Foreign  Office. 

"You  won't  see  him,"  said  Fitz.  "But  you  must 
make  it  appear  that  you  want  to  see  him  particularly." 

"But  if  I  should  happen  to  see  him  ?" 

The  Master  of  the  Crackanthorpe  was  awed  into 
silence  by  a  Napoleonic  gesture. 

"Where  do  I  come  in?"  said  the  pleading  voice  from 
the  wilderness. 

"You  come  in,  Vane-Anstruther,"  said  Fitz  to  my 
relation  by  marriage,  "four  minutes  after  Brasset. 
You  are  Lieutenant  von  Wildengarth-Mergle  from 


108  MRS.    FITZ 

Blaenau,  with  a  letter  of  introduction  to  the  Illyrian 
Ambassador.  Here  is  your  card,  and  you  can  give  it 
to  anybody  you  like." 

The  recipient  was  immensely  gratified  by  the  card 
of  Lieutenant  von  Wildengarth-Mergle  of  the  Ninth 
Regiment  of  Hussars  when  it  was  bestowed  upon  him. 
His  manner  of  disposing  of  it  was  precisely  similar  to 
that  adopted  by  Brasset  in  the  case  of  the  letter  from 
the  Foreign  Office.  His  bearing  also  was  modelled 
obviously  upon  that  of  that  ornament  of  high 
diplomacy. 

"I  assume,"  said  I,  "that  we  are  all  to  bluff  our  way 
into  the  Illyrian  Embassy ;  and  once  we  are  there  we 
are  to  take  care  to  stay  until  we  are  advised  further?" 

"That  is  so." 

"But  let  us  assume  for  a  moment  that  we  get  no 
advice  ?" 

"If  I  do  not  come  to  you  by  ten  minutes  to  ten,  or 
you  are  not  sent  for  by  then,  you  are  all  to  leave  any 
anteroom  you  may  be  in,  and  you  are  to  walk  straight 
up  the  central  staircase,  taking  notice  of  nobody.  If 
they  try  to  stop  you,  merely  say  you  wish  to  see  the 
Ambassador." 

"And  if  they  use  force?" 

"Make  use  of  it  yourself,  with  as  much  noise  as  you 
can.  And  if  you  still  fail  to  hear  from  me,  then  will 
be  the  time  to  think  about  retirement.  Does  everybody 
understand  ?" 

Everybody  did  apparently. 

"It  is  seven  minutes  to  nine.  Time  we  began  to 
collect  our  taxis." 


THE  ORDERS  FOR  THE  DAY          109 

Fitz  rose  from  the  table,  and  in  a  body  we  went  in 
search  of  our  coats  and  hats.  For  my  fellow  con- 
spirators I  cannot  speak,  but  my  heart  was  beating 
in  the  absurdest  manner,  and  my  veins  were  tingling. 
There  was  that  sense  of  exaltation  in  them  which  is 
generally  reserved  for  a  quick  twenty  minutes  over  the 
grass. 

"Give  me  that  revolver,"  said  I. 

As  Fitz  smuggled  the  weapon  into  my  hand,  I  could 
feel  my  pulses  leaping  immorally.  This  sensation  may 
have  been  due  to  my  having  dined  at  Ward's ;  although 
doubtless  it  is  more  scientific  to  ascribe  it  to  some 
primeval  instinct  which  has  resisted  civilisation's  rav- 
ages upon  human  nature. 

As  I  stealthily  inserted  the  weapon  into  the  pocket 
of  my  trousers,  I  stole  a  covert  glance  at  the  solemn 
visage  of  the  Chief  Constable.  The  great  man  was 
smiling  benignly  at  his  thoughts,  and  smoking  a  big 
cigar  with  an  air  of  Homeric  enjoyment. 

As  Fitz,  tall-hatted  and  fur-coated,  picked  his  way 
delicately  down  the  slush-covered  steps  to  where  his  taxi 
awaited  him,  he  turned  to  offer  a  word  of  final  instruc- 
tion to  his  followers. 

"Coverdale  and  Arbuthnot  9.4;  O'Mulligan  9.8; 
Brasset  9.12 ;  Vane-Anstruther  9.16.  If  you  hear  noth- 
ing in  the  meantime,  at  9.50  you  go  upstairs." 

"Righto,"  we  chorussed,  as  Fitz  boarded  his  chariot 
with  a  self-possession  that  was  even  touched  with 
languor. 

We  watched  him  turn  into  Piccadilly,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded solemnly  to  invest  ourselves  in  coats  and  mufflers. 


110  MRS.    FITZ 

Four  minutes  is  not  a  long  space  of  time,  yet  it  is  quite 
possible  for  it  to  seem  an  age.  Before  the  hall  clock 
pointed  to  9.4,  one  might  have  had  a  double  molar 
drawn,  or  one's  head  cut  off  by  the  guillotine. 

"300  Portland  Place,"  said  the  Chief  Constable  in 
tones  which  somehow  seemed  astonishingly  loud,  while 
I  squeezed  as  far  as  possible  into  the  far  corner  of  the 
vehicle  for  the  better  accommodation  of  my  stalwart 
companion. 

"Dirty  night,"  said  the  Chief  Constable.  "Not  fit 
for  a  dog  to  be  out.  Have  the  glass  down?" 

It  may  have  been  an  overwrought  fancy,  but  I 
thought  I  perceived  a  slight,  but  unmistakable  tremor 
in  the  voice  of  the  head  of  the  Middleshire  Con- 
stabulary. 

"Not  for  me,  thanks,"  said  I.  "These  things  are  so 
stuffy." 

The  head  of  the  Middleshire  Constabulary  agreed 
with  me.  The  impression  may  have  been  due  to  a  dis- 
ordered fancy,  but  I  thought  I  detected  a  note  of 
embarrassment  in  the  Chief  Constable's  laugh. 

From  Saint  James's  Street  to  Portland  Place  is  not 
far,  and  this  evening  we  seemed  to  accomplish  the  jour- 
ney in  a  very  short  time.  Having  dismissed  our  taxi  at 
the  door  of  the  Ambassador's  imposing  residence,  we 
each  looked  to  the  other  to  ring  his  Excellency's  door- 
bell. 

"General,"  said  I,  "you  are  my  senior,  and  I  feel  that 
your  Illyrian,  or  your  French,  or  your  broken  English, 
or  any  other  language  in  which  you  may  be  moved  to 
indulge,  will  carry  more  weight  than  mine." 


THE  ORDERS  FOR  THE  DAY          111 

"Oh,  do  you!  By  the  way,  I  have  forgotten  my 
name." 

"General  Drago." 

"And  yours?" 

"Count  Alexis  Zbynska." 

"Well,  here  goes." 

The  gallant  warrior  gave  a  mighty  tug  at  the  bell. 
This  met  with  no  attention ;  but  at  the  second  assault 
on  the  ambassadorial  door-bell,  the  massive  portal  was 
swung  back,  slowly  and  solemnly,  by  a  gorgeous  menial. 
In  the  immediate  background  there  were  others. 

"I  am  General  Drago,  and  I  wish  to  see  the  Am- 
bassador." The  Chief  Constable's  precision  of  phrase 
was  really  majestic. 

The  stalwart  Illyrian,  who  seemed  to  be  quite  seven 
feet  high  from  the  crown  of  his  wig  to  the  soles  of  his 
silk  stockings,  bowed  and  led  the  way  within. 

When  we  had  crossed  his  Excellency's  threshold,  and 
just  as  a  gorgeous  interior  had  unfolded  itself  to  our 
respectful  gaze,  a  very  urbane-looking  personage  in 
evening  clothes  and  a  pair  of  white  kid  gloves  took 
charge  of  us.  He  led  us  through  a  spacious  hall  con- 
taining pillars  of  white  marble,  whence  we  passed  into 
a  waiting-room,  immediately  to  the  right  of  a  distinctly 
imposing  alabaster  staircase.  In  this  apartment  the 
light  was  dim  and  religious,  and  the  atmosphere  had 
a  chill  solemnity.  Our  friend  of  the  white  kid  gloves 
presented  us  with  a  slip  of  paper  apiece,  and  indicated 
an  inkstand  on  the  table. 

"Write  our  names  in  Illyrian,"  I  whispered  to  my 
fellow  conspirator.  "They  will  carry  more  weight." 


MRS.    FITZ 

The  Chief  Constable  inscribed  his  own  name  on  the 
slip  of  paper  very  laboriously,  in  the  Illyrian  character. 
When  he  had  accomplished  this  feat,  I  proceeded  as  well 
as  in  me  lay,  and  with  a  deliberation  quite  equal  to  his 
own,  to  commit  to  paper  the  name  of  the  Herr  Graf 
Alexis  von  Zybnska.  I  was  beset  with  much  misgiving 
as  to  the  correct  manner  of  spelling  it,  and  therefore 
had  recourse  to  a  number  of  superfluous  flourishes  in 
order  to  conceal  my  ignorance  as  far  as  possible. 

When  the  gentleman  of  the  white  kid  gloves  had 
solemnly  borne  away  the  slips  of  paper,  the  Chief  Con- 
stable proceeded  to  remove  a  bead  of  honest  perspira- 
tion from  his  manly  forehead. 

"Of  all  the  cursed  crackbrained  schemes !"  he  mut- 
tered. "What  does  the  madman  expect  us  to  do  now !" 

"Say  as  little  and  waste  as  much  time  as  we  can," 
said  I,  "and  at  ten  minutes  to  ten,  if  we  are  still  alive, 
we  are  to  make  our  way  up  that  staircase." 

The  head  of  the  Middleshire  Constabulary  subsided 
into  incoherence  mingled  with  profanity. 

The  gentleman  of  the  white  kid  gloves  had  closed 
the  door  upon  us.  The  gloom  and  the  silence  of  the 
room  was  terribly  oppressive.  With  ticking  nerves,  I 
made  a  survey  of  its  contents.  The  furniture  appeared 
to  consist  of  a  large  table  with  massive  legs,  half  a 
dozen  chairs  covered  in  red  leather,  a  full  length  por- 
trait in  oils  by  Bruffenhauser,  of  his  Illyrian  Majesty, 
Ferdinand  the  Twelfth,  in  which  the  victor  of  Rodova 
appeared  in  full  regalia  in  a  gilt  frame,  a  really  mag- 
nificent-looking old  gentleman  ;  while  on  a  separate  table 
at  the  far  end  of  the  room  was  the  Almanach  de  Gotha. 


THE  ORDERS  FOR  THE  DAY          113 

It  began  to  seem  that  our  suspense  was  going  to  last 
for  ever.  Not  a  sound  penetrated  to  us  from  beyond 
the  closed  door.  At  last  Coverdale  took  out  his  watch. 

"Is  it  ten  minutes  to  ten  yet?"  I  enquired  anxiously. 

"No ;  it  still  wants  a  couple  of  minutes  to  half  past 
nine." 

To  be  condemned  to  support  such  tension  for  a  whole 
twenty  minutes  longer  was  to  place  a  term  upon 
eternity. 

"Hadn't  we  better  open  the  door?"  said  I,  "so  that 
we  can  hear  if  anything  happens." 

My  fellow  conspirator  concurred. 

I  opened  the  door  accordingly  and  looked  out  in  the 
direction  of  the  alabaster  staircase.  A  man  was  de- 
scending it  in  a  rather  languid  manner.  There  was 
something  curiously  familiar  about  his  appearance. 
As  soon  as  he  saw  me  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
he  quickened  his  pace.  It  was  clear  that  he  wished  to 
speak  to  me. 

"Keep  cool,"  he  said,  and  to  my  half-joyful  bewilder- 
ment, I  recognised  the  voice  of  Fitz.  "You  and  Cover- 
dale  had  better  leave  your  overcoats  in  that  room  and 
go  up.  Go  into  the  first  room  on  the  left  on  the  first 
floor !" 

With  a  coolness  that  was  almost  incredible,  Fitz 
sauntered  away  across  the  wide  vestibule  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  while  I  returned  to  Coverdale  with  this 
latest  command. 

We  obeyed  it  with  a  sense  of  relief.  Anything  was 
better  than  to  sit  counting  the  seconds  in  that  funereal 
waiting-room.  Divested  of  our  overcoats,  we  went  forth 


MRS.    FITZ 

up  the  staircase,  doing  our  best  to  appear  quite  at  ease, 
as  though  there  was  nothing  in  the  least  unusual  in  the 
situation. 

Half-way  up  we  were  confronted  with  two  men  com- 
ing down.  They  looked  at  us  with  quiet  intentness  and 
seemed  inclined  to  speak.  Coverdale  passed  on  with 
set  gaze  and  rigid  facial  muscles,  an  art  in  which,  like 
so  many  of  his  countrymen,  he  is  greatly  accomplished. 
His  "Speak-to-me-if-you-dare"  expression  stood  us  in 
excellent  stead.  The  two  men  passed  down  the  stairs 
without  venturing  to  address  us,  and  we  went  up. 

The  first  room  on  the  left,  on  the  first  floor,  was  a 
larger  and  more  cheerful  apartment  than  the  one  from 
which  we  had  come.  It  was  better  lit ;  there  was  a 
bright  fire,  and  it  was  furnished  with  taste,  after  the 
fashion  of  a  drawing-room.  There  were  books,  photo- 
graphs, and  a  piano. 

The  room  was  empty,  but  we  had  been  in  it  scarcely 
a  minute  when  a  servant  entered  to  offer  us  coffee.  We 
did  not  disdain  the  ambassadorial  bounty.  Excellent 
coffee  it  was. 

We  were  toying  with  this  refreshment  when  a  stealthy 
rustle  apprised  us  that  we  were  also  about  to  receive 
the  indulgence  of  feminine  society.  A  young  woman, 
tall  and  graceful,  and  charmingly  gowned,  came  into 
the  room  with  a  sheet  of  music  in  her  hand.  The  pres- 
ence of  a  pair  of  total  strangers  did  not  embarrass  her. 

"Do  you  like  Schubert?"  said  she  with  a  delightful 
foreign  intonation. 

"I  think  Schubert  is  charming,"  said  I,  with  heart- 
iness and  promptitude. 


THE  ORDERS  FOR  THE  DAY          115 

The  lady  flashed  her  teeth  in  a  rare  smile  and  sat 
down  at  the  piano.  I  arranged  her  music  with  a  care 
that  was  rather  elaborate. 

It  was  not  Schubert,  however,  that  she  began  to  play, 
but  a  haunting  little  "Impromptu"  of  Schumann's. 
Her  playing  was  good  to  listen  to,  for  her  touch  was 
highly  educated;  also  it  was  fascinating  to  watch  her 
movements  since  she  was  an  extremely  graceful  and 
vivid  work  of  nature. 

Very  assiduously  I  turned  over  her  music.  The  occu- 
pation in  itself  was  pleasant;  also  it  seemed  to  give 
some  sort  of  sanction  to  our  unlawful  presence.  Cover- 
dale  with  his  hands  tucked  deep  in  his  pockets,  appeared 
to  listen  most  critically  to  the  lady's  playing ;  although, 
as  I  have  heard  him  declare  himself,  the  only  form  of 
music  that  appeals  to  him  is  "a  really  good  brass  band." 

In  the  course  of  the  performance  of  Schumann's 
"Impromptu"  the  audience  of  the  fair  pianiste  gained 
in  number  and  authority.  Like  the  famous  Pied  Piper 
of  Hamelin,  the  thrilling  delicacy  of  her  touch  began 
to  entice  quaint  beasts  from  their  lair.  Alexander 
O'Mulligan  sauntered  into  the  drawing-room  at  about 
the  fourth  bar.  He  wore  his  most  seraphic  grin,  arid 
his  ears  were  spread  to  catch  the  most  illusive  chords 
of  melody.  He  gave  Coverdale  a  jovial  nod  and  winked 
at  me.  It  was  clear  that  the  amateur  middle  weight 
champion  of  Great  Britain  was  enjoying  himself  im- 
mensely. 

Hardly  had  Alexander  O'Mulligan  advised  us  of  his 
genial  presence,  when  Brasset  and  my  relation  by  mar- 
riage came  in  upon  tiptoe.  The  sight  of  us  all  with 


116  MRS.    FITZ 

an  unknown  lady  discoursing  Schumann  for  our  benefit 
was  doubtless  as  reassuring  as  it  was  unexpected.  In 
the  emotion  of  the  moment  Jodey  gave  the  amateur 
middle  weight  champion  a  fraternal  dig  in  the  ribs. 

However,  our  party  could  not  be  considered  complete 
without  the  presence  of  the  chief  gamester.  The  "Im- 
promptu" had  run  its  course  and  the  gracious  lady  at 
the  piano  had  been  prevailed  upon  to  play  something  of 
Brahms',  when  the  master  mind,  whose  arrival  we  were 
nervously  awaiting,  appeared  once  more  upon  the  scene. 
Fitz  came  into  the  room  looking  every  inch  the  Man  of 
Destiny. 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  MAN  OF  DESTINY 

IT  was  not  in  looks  alone  that  Fitz  resembled  the 
Man  of  Destiny.  The  peremptory  decision  of  his  man- 
ner fitted  him  for  the  part.  The  beautiful  musician 
and  her  subtle  cadences  were  significant  to  him  only 
in  so  far  as  they  could  serve  his  will.  Fitz  entered  in 
the  midst  of  a  rhapsody  played  divinely ;  and  with  an 
unconcerned  air  he  went  straight  up  to  the  piano,  and, 
with  Napoleonic  effrontery,  placed  his  elbow  across  the 
music. 

"Sorry  to  interrupt  you,  Countess,  but  there  is  no 
time  to  lose." 

The  Countess  lifted  her  fingers  from  the  keys,  and 
her  teeth  flashed  in  a  smile,  that  had  an  edge  to  it. 

A  shrug  of  the  shoulders  from  the  pianiste ;  and  Fitz 
began  to  talk  with  considerable  volubility  in  his  fluent 
Illyrian.  My  nurture  has  been  expensive;  and  on  the 
admirable  English  principle  of  the  more  you  pay  for 
your  education  the  less  practical  knowledge  you  acquire, 
let  it  cause  no  surprise  that  my  acquaintance  with  the 
Illyrian  tongue  is  limited  to  a  few  expletives.  There- 
fore I  was  unable  to  follow  the  course  of  Fitz's  con- 
versation. 

Perforce  I  had  to  be  content  with  watching  his  play 
of  gesture.  This,  too,  was  considerable.  The  air  of 

117 


118  MRS.    FITZ 

languor  which  it  had  pleased  him  to  assume  in  the 
crisis  of  his  fate  was  laid  aside  in  favour  of  a  wonderful 
ardour  and  conviction.  He  drummed  his  fingers  on  the 
top  of  the  piano  and  urged  his  views  with  a  fervour 
that  might  have  moved  the  Sphinx. 

At  first  the  fair  musician  did  not  seem  prepared  to 
take  Fitz  seriously.  Her  smile  was  arch,  and  inclined 
to  be  playful.  But  Fitz  was  in  an  epic  mood. 

He  had  not  come  so  far  upon  a  momentous  enterprise 
to  be  gainsaid  by  a  woman's  levity.  The  man  began  to 
wax  tremendous.  He  kept  his  voice  low,  but  the  veins 
swelled  in  his  forehead,  and  he  beat  the  palm  of  his 
right  hand  with  the  fist  of  his  left. 

Before  such  a  force  of  nature  no  woman  could  be 
expected  to  maintain  her  negative  attitude.  Fitz's 
Illyrian  became  volcanic.  In  the  end,  the  lady  at  the 
piano  spread  her  hands,  said  "Hein!"  and  rose  from 
the  music  stool.  A  moment  she  stood  irresolute,  but  the 
gaze  upon  her  was  that  of  a  serpent  fixed  upon  the  eyes 
of  a  bird.  The  man's  determination  had  won  the  day. 
For  clearly  at  his  behest,  she  quitted  the  room,  and 
Fitz,  white  and  tense,  yet  with  blazing  eyes,  followed 
her. 

For  the  moment  it  seemed  that  he  had  forgotten  his 
fellow  conspirators.  But  as  soon  as  he  had  passed  out 
of  the  room,  he  turned  back. 

"Stay  where  you  are,"  he  said.  "You  will  be  wanted 
presently." 

The  five  of  us  were  left  staring  after  him  through 
the  open  door  of  the  drawing-room.  It  was  the  Chief 
Constable  who  broke  the  silence. 


THE  MAN  OF  DESTINY  119 

"What's  his  game  now?" 

"He  appears  to  be  engaged  in  convincing  a  woman 
against  her  will,"  said  I.  "Were  you  able  to  follow  the 
conversation  ?" 

"Not  altogether.  He  appears  to  have  made  up  his 
mind  that  Madame  shall  do  something,  and  Madame 
appears  to  have  made  up  hers  that  she  won't.  *  But 
exactly  what  it  is,  I  can't  say.  I  don't  mind  betting 
a  shilling  all  the  same,  that  the  damned  fellow  will  get 
his  way.  Upon  my  word  I  have  never  seen  his  equal!" 

The  Chief  Constable  laughed  in  a  hollow  voice,  and 
removed  another  bead  of  honest  perspiration  from  his 
countenance. 

Fitz's  departure  with  the  Countess  marked  the  re- 
newal of  our  suspense.  Here  were  the  five  of  us  landed 
indefinitely,  biting  our  thumbs.  The  situation  was 
rather  absurd.  Five  law-abiding  Englishmen  assembled 
with  fell  intent  in  a  private  house,  yet  knowing  very 
little  of  the  business  they  had  on  hand.  Each  had  made 
his  way  by  stealth,  and  under  false  pretences,  into  the 
very  heart  of  the  place.  In  this  comfortable  drawing- 
room  we  had  no  locus  standi  at  all.  To  all  in  the  estab- 
lishment we  were  total  strangers,  and  to  us  they  were 
equally  strange. 

Would  Fitz  never  return?  Would  the  call  to  action 
never  be  made?  A  man  with  a  high  forehead  and  the 
look  of  an  official  came  to  the  threshold  of  the  room, 
looked  in  upon  us  pensively,  and  then  went  away  again. 
Two  minutes  later,  a  second  individual  repeated  the 
performance.  Doubtless  we  were  five  strange  and  un- 


120  MRS.    FITZ 

expected  birds — but  the  whole  business  was  beginning 
to  be  ridiculous. 

I  looked  at  my  watch.  It  was  twenty-five  minutes 
past  ten.  Then  the  undefeated  O'Mulligan  sat  down 
at  the  piano  and  began  to  play  the  latest  masterpiece 
in  vogue  at  the  Tivoli.  The  strains  of  his  searching 
melody  had  the  effect  of  bringing  to  us  another  servant 
with  a  further  supply  of  coffee. 

"Can  you  tell  me  if  the  Ambassador  is  dining  out 
to-night?"  I  said  to  the  servant. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  man  who  was  English.  "At 
Buckingham  Palace,  but  he  will  be  home  before  eleven." 

"Is  the  Crown  Princess  dining  there  also?" 

"No,  sir,  I  believe  not." 

"She  is  in  the  suite  of  rooms  on  the  next  floor?"  I 
said  carelessly. 

"Yes,  sir." 

When  the  man  had  withdrawn  I  was  congratulated. 

"Well  done,  you !"  said  Coverdale.  "Useful  informa- 
tion." 

"I  wonder  if  Fitz  knows  as  much,"  said  I. 

"Of  course  he  does.  The  infernal  fellow  has  thought 
this  thing  out  pretty  well.  He  knows  the  game  he's 
playing." 

This  was  reassuring  from  one  whose  habit  was  averse 
from  optimism. 

Inspired  with  the  knowledge  that  his  Excellency  was 
dining  at  Buckingham  Palace,  Alexander  O'Mulligan 
began  to  pound  away  more  heartily  than  ever  upon  the 
upright  grand. 

"Give  your  imitation  of  church  bells  and  a  barrel 


THE  MAN  OF  DESTINY 

organ,  Alec,"  said  a  humble  admirer,  insinuating  a  trifle 
more  ease  into  his  bearing. 

"Do  you  think  they  will  mind  if  we  smoke  here?" 
said  Brasset,  plaintively.  "I  am  dying  for  a  cigarette." 

However,  before  the  Master  of  the  Crackanthorpe 
could  have  recourse  to  this  aid  to  his  existence,  Fitz 
returned.  He  was  alone,  and  he  was  peremptory. 

"What  an  infernal  din  you  fellows  kick  up!"  He 
fixed  his  daemonic  gaze  upon  the  amateur  middle  weight 
champion.  "Leave  that  piano  and  come  and  be  pre- 
sented to  my  wife." 

At  last  we  were  coming  to  the  horses.  There  was  a 
perceptible  squaring  of  shoulders  and  a  shooting  of 
cuffs,  and  then  Fitz  led  the  way  out  of  the  room,  fol- 
lowed by  Coverdale  and  the  rest  of  us  in  review  order. 
We  were  conducted  up  another  marble  staircase  and 
along  a  lengthy  corridor,  through  a  succession  of  recep- 
tion-rooms, until  at  last  we  found  ourselves  in  an  apart- 
ment larger  and  more  ornate  than  all  the  others.  Its 
sombre  richness  was  truly  imposing.  Pictures,  tapes- 
try, candelabra,  carpets  and  furniture  all  combined  to 
give  it  the  air  of  a  state  chamber. 

Three  ladies  were  seated  at  the  far  end  of  this  mag- 
nificent room.  One  was  the  fair  musician  upon  whom 
Fitz  had  imposed  his  will;  another  was  a  mature  and 
stately  dame,  with  snow-white  hair  and  patrician  fea- 
tures ;  and  the  third,  reclining  upon  a  chair  with  a  high 
gilt  back,  was  the  "Stormy  Petrel,"  the  Crown  Princess 
of  Illyria. 

As  soon  as  we  came  into  the  room  the  two  other 
ladies  rose,  leaving  the  Princess  seated  in  state.  Fitz 


122  MRS.    FITZ 

presented  each  of  us  with  all  the  formality  that  the  most 
sensitive  royalty  could  have  desired.  His  manner  of 
recommending  us  to  Her  Royal  Highness  was  dignified, 
authoritative  and  not  without  grace.  As  far  as  we 
were  concerned,  I  hope  our  bearing  was  not  lacking 
in  the  necessary  punctilio. 

Hitherto  it  had  been  our  privilege  to  see  Mrs.  Fitz 
out  hunting  in  her  famous  scarlet  coat,  when  to  be  sure, 
she  had  been  the  centre  of  much  critical  observation. 
But  at  such  times  the  princess  was  merged  in  the  bril- 
liant horsewoman ;  and  it  goes  to  prove  how  easily  "the 
real  thing"  may  pass  for  the  mere  audacity  of  the 
intrepid  adventuress,  if  one  comes  to  consider  that  the 
bearing  of  "the  circus  rider  from  Vienna"  awoke  no 
suspicions  in  respect  of  her  status. 

It  would  be  easy  to  indulge  in  a  page  of  reflection 
upon  the  subject  of  Mrs.  Fitz.  Her  style  was  quite  as 
pronounced  in  the  saddle  as  it  was  in  the  salon,  but  the 
experts  in  that  elusive  quality  had  failed,  as  they  do 
occasionally,  to  appreciate  its  authenticity.  Doubtless 
they  would  have  failed  again  to  render  the  genuine  thing 
its  meed,  had  we  not  the  assurance  of  Fitz  that  we  were 
in  the  presence  of  the  heiress  to  the  oldest  monarchy 
in  Europe. 

It  is  time  I  attempted  to  describe  this  noble  creature. 
But  it  is  vain  to  seek  to  portray  a  great  work  of  nature. 
Above  all  else  I  think  she  must  be  regarded  as  that. 
She  was  prodigal  in  beauty ;  imperious  in  the  vividness 
of  her  challenge;  splendid  in  the  arresting  candour  of 
her  dark  and  disdainful  eyes.  There  was  a  compelling 
power  before  which  the  world  of  men  and  things  was 


THE  MAN  OF  DESTINY  123 

prone  to  yield ;  but  there  was  pathos  too  in  that  valiant 
self-security,  which  knew  so  little  yet  exacted  so  much ; 
and  beyond  all  else  there  was  the  immemorial  fascination 
of  a  luckless,  intensely  sentient  being,  who  seemed  in  her 
own  person  to  be  the  epitome  of  an  entire  sex  at  the 
dawn  of  the  twentieth  century. 

One  by  one  we  paid  our  homage,  and  it  was  not  ren- 
dered less  by  the  romance  of  the  circumstances. 

"You  are  brave  men !"  she  said  in  a  voice  wonder- 
fully low  and  clear  in  quality.  "We  Svelkes  have  known 
always  how  to  esteem  men  of  courage." 

Coverdale,  as  the  doyen  of  the  party,  took  upon 
himself  to  speak  for  us.  He  held  himself  erect  and 
bowed  much  too  stiffly  to  pass  muster  as  a  courtier. 
But  he  had  a  kind  of  plain,  almost  rough,  sincerity 
which  atoned  a  little  for  his  resolute  absence  of  grace. 

"If  we  are  to  have  the  privilege,  ma'am,"  said  the 
Chief  Constable,  "of  making  ourselves  useful,  I  am  sure 
we  shall  all  feel  very  proud  and  honoured." 

There  is  often  something  rather  charming  in  a  plain 
man's  attempt  at  the  ornate.  So  honourable  an  awk- 
wardness caused  the  eyes  of  her  Royal  Highness  to  glow 
with  humour  and  kindliness. 

"Mais  oui,  mon  cher,  I  know  it  well,  les  Anglais  sont 
homines  honnetes"  Suddenly  she  laughed  quite  charm- 
ingly, and  enfolded  the  six  of  us  in  a  glance  of  the 
highest  benevolence,  with  which,  doubtless,  her  favourite 
dogs  and  horses  had  often  been  indulged.  "Do  you 
know,  there  is  something  in  les  Anglais  that  I  like  much. 
Quiet  fellows,  eh,  always  a  little  bete,  but  so — so  trust- 
worthy. Yes,  I  like  them  much." 


MRS.    FITZ 

There  was  something  soft  and  quaint  and  entirely 
captivating  in  the  accent  of  her  Royal  Highness.  The 
smile  in  her  eyes  was  frankness  itself. 

"I  hope,  ma'am,"  said  the  Chief  Constable,  still 
labouring  valiantly  with  his  politeness,  "that  we  shall 
deserve  praise." 

The  princess  continued  to  smile.  A  very  character- 
istic smile  it  was.  A  little  girl  admiring  her  array  of 
dolls,  or  old  Frederick  of  Prussia  reviewing  his  regiment 
of  giants,  might  have  been  expected  to  indulge  in  a 
very  similar  gesture.  We  were  honest  Englishmen, 
quiet  fellows,  a  little  bete,  who  were  always  to  be 
trusted ;  and  her  naivete  was  such,  that  it  was  bound  to 
inform  us  of  these  facts. 

"You  must  know  my  ladies.  They  will  like  to  know 
you,  I  am  sure." 

The  elder  was  the  Margravine  of  Lesser  Grabia ;  the 
fair  admirer  of  Strauss  the  Countess  Etta  von  Zweidel- 
heim.  The  bows  were  profound  ;  and  not  for  a  moment, 
did  the  look  of  high  indulgence  quit  the  face  of  her 
Royal  Highness. 

"The  Margravine  is  a  dear  good  creature,  Colonel 
Coverdale.  Many  times  she  has  helped  me  when  I  could 
not  do  my  sums.  I  never  could  do  sums,  because  I 
always  thought  they  were  stupid.  But  she  is  such  a 
kind  faithful  soul,  my  dear  Colonel,  and  not  at  all  stu- 
pid, like  the  sums  she  used  to  set  me.  As  for  her  cook- 
ing, it  is  excellent.  If  you  are  not  otherwise  engaged, 
my  dear  Colonel,  I  should  recommend  you  to  marry 
her." 

The  younger  section  of  her  Royal  Highness's  body- 


THE  MAN  OF  DESTINY  125 

guard,  Brasset,  Jodey  and  O'Mulligan,  gave  ground 
abruptly.  The  amateur  middle  weight  champion  of 
Great  Britain  nearly  disgraced  us  all  by  choking 
audibly.  But  really  the  expression  of  blank  dismay 
upon  the  weather-beaten  countenance  of  the  Chief  Con- 
stable was  stupendous.  However,  his  presence  of  mind 
and  his  courtier-like  politeness  did  not  for  a  moment 
desert  him. 

"Delighted,  I'm  sure,"    he    murmured. 

"I  feel  sure,  a  man  so  brave  as  Colonel  Coverdale 
has  a  good  "ife  already,"  said  the  lady  of  the  patrician 
features,  speaking  excellent  Engh'sh  with  great  amia- 
bility. 

A  further  development  of  this  alluring  topic  was  pre- 
cluded by  the  entrance  of  a  fourth  lady  into  the  room. 
She  carried  an  opera  cloak.  Clearly  this  was  designed 
for  the  use  of  the  Princess. 

Her  Royal  Highness  however  preferred  to  tarry. 
Fitz  hovering  round  her  chair  found  it  hard  to  veil  his 
impatience.  Too  plainly  the  delay  which  was  wanton 
and  unnecessary  was  setting  his  nerves  on  edge.  His 
wife  must  have  been  conscious  of  it  since  she  patted 
his  sleeve  with  an  air  at  once  soothing  and  maternal. 
Nevertheless  she  shewed  no  haste  to  forego  the  comfort 
of  the  room  or  the  pleasure  of  the  society  in  which  she 
sat. 

"I  was  hoping,"  said  Fitz,  "that  we  could  get  away 
before  the  return  of  von  Arlenberg." 

The  smile  of  the  Princess  was  of  rare  brilliancy. 

"Ah  yes,  the  dear  Baron.     Perhaps  it  is  better." 

Fitz  took  the  cloak  from  the  hands  of  the  lady,  but 


126  MRS.    FITZ 

before  he  could  place  it  around  his  wife's  shoulders 
voices  were  heard  at  the  far  end  of  the  long  room. 

Three  men  had  entered. 

The  first  of  these  to  approach  us  was  a  tall,  stout 
and  florid  personage  wearing  full  Court  dress  and  so 
many  decorations  that  he  looked  like  a  caricature. 
Certainly  he  was  a  magnificent  figure  of  a  man,  but  at 
this  moment  a  little  lacking  in  serenity.  His  face 
showed  traces  of  a  consternation  that  would  have  been 
almost  comic  had  it  not  been  rather  painful.  At  the 
sight  of  the  six  of  us  he  spread  out  his  hands  and 
gesticulated  to  those  who  had  come  with  him  into  the 
room. 

In  an  undertone  he  said  something  in  Illyrian,  which 
I  did  not  understand. 

In  striking  contrast  to  the  perturbation  of  the  Am- 
bassador, the  manner  of  the  Princess  was  as  amiable 
and  composed  as  if  she  were  seated  in  the  castle  at 
Blaenau. 

"Ah,  Baron,  you  have  dined  well?" 

"Excellently  madam,  excellently!"  said  the  Ambas- 
sador. The  consternation  in  his  face  was  slowly  deep- 
ening. 

"Tres  bien;  it  is  well.  I  have  heard  my  father  say 
that  cooking  was  the  only  art  in  which  the  good  English 
are  not  quite  perfect.  And  le  bon  roi  Edouard,  I  hope 
he  is  in  good  health?" 

"In  robust  health,  madam,  in  robust  health." 

The  dismay  in  the  eyes  of  the  Ambassador  was  rather 
tragic.  His  gaze  was  travelling  constantly  to  meet 
that  of  his  two  companions,  stolid  men  who  yet  were 


THE  MAN  OF  DESTINY  127 

at  a  loss  to  conceal  their  uneasiness.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  air  of  the  Princess  was  charmingly  cool  and 
degage. 

"Baron,"  said  she,  "do  you  know  my  husband?" 

Her  smile,  as  she  spoke,  acquired  a  malice  that  made 
one  think  of  a  sword. 

"Madam,  I  have  not  the  privilege,"  said  the  Ambas- 
sador coldly. 

Somehow  the  manner  of  the  reply  gave  one  an  en- 
larged idea  of  his  Excellency's  calibre.  If  in  such  a 
situation  it  is  permissible  for  a  humble  spectator  to 
speak  of  himself,  I  felt  my  throat  tighten  and  my  heart 
begin  to  beat. 

"Well,  Baron,"  said  the  Princess,  "it  is  a  privilege 
that  I  am  sure  you  covet.  His  Excellency  the  Herr 
Baron  von  Arlenberg,  my  dear  father's  representative 
in  England,  Mr.  Nevil  Fitzwaren,  squire  of  Broadfields, 
in  the  County  of  Middleham." 

The  Ambassador  bowed  gravely  and  then  held  out 
his  hand. 

Fitz  returned  the  bow  of  Ferdinand  the  Twelfth's 
representative  slightly  and  curtly,  but  ignored  his  hand 
altogether. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

FURTHER  PASSAGES  AT  NO.  300  PORTLAND 
PLACE 

THE  Princess  was  amused. 

"Aha,  les  Anglais!    Tres  bon  enfants!" 

The  royal  eyebrows  had  an  uplift  of  mischievous 
pleasure. 

"And  this,  dear  Baron,"  said  her  Royal  Highness, 
"is  my  good  friend  Colonel  Coverdale,  who  has  smelt 
powder  in  the  wars  of  his  country." 

Fitz's  open  rudeness  seemed  to  help  the  Ambassador 
to  sustain  his  poise.  He  bowed  and  offered  his  hand 
to  the  Chief  Constable  in  a  fashion  precisely  similar  to 
that  he  had  used  to  the  husband  of  the  Princess. 

The  Chief  Constable  shook  hands  with  the  Ambas- 
sador. It  was  amusing  to  observe  the  manner  in  which 
each  of  these  big  dogs  looked  over  the  other.  The 
representative  of  Ferdinand  the  Twelfth  was  a  man  of 
greater  calibre  than  his  first  appearance  had  led  us  to 
believe. 

"It  is  pleasant,  madam,"  said  he,  "to  find  you  sur- 
rounded by  your  English  friends." 

The  dark  eyes  brimmed  with  meaning. 

"Confess,  Baron,  that  you  did  not  think  I  had  so 
many." 

128 


FURTHER  PASSAGES  129 

"Your  Royal  Highness  is  not  kind  to  my  intelli- 
gence," said  his  Excellency. 

"Confess,  then,  you  did  not  think  that  such  was  their 
courage?" 

"I  will  perjure  myself  if  your  Royal  Highness  desires 
it."  The  Ambassador's  laugh  was  not  so  gay  in  effect 
as  it  was  in  intention.  "But  could  I  believe  that  you 
would  admit  any  save  the  bravest  to  your  friendship?" 

"Then  you  recognise,  Baron,  that  my  friends  are 
brave?" 

"Unquestionably,  madam,  they  are  brave." 

"Explain  then,  Baron,  why  you  did  not  guard  the 
doors  of  my  prison?  For  what  reason,  when  you  went 
out  to  dine  this  evening,  did  you  forget  to  lock  them 
and  put  the  keys  in  your  pocket?" 

Before  the  subtle  laughter  in  the  eyes  of  his  ques- 
tioner the  Ambassador  lowered  his  gaze. 

"I  trust  your  Royal  Highness  does  not  feel  that  one 
of  the  oldest,  if  one  of  the  humblest,  servants  of  the 
good  King,  has  so  little  regard  for  your  Royal  High- 
ness as  to  seek  to  debar  her  from  the  simplest  of 
pleasures  ?" 

"It  has  not  occurred  to  your  Excellency  that  that 
of  which  you  speak  as  the  simplest  of  pleasures  may 
prove  for  yourself  the  greatest  of  calamities?" 

At  this  point  the  Ambassador  was  tempted  to  dis- 
semble. 

"I  am  at  a  loss,  madam,  to  read  your  thoughts." 

"Liar!"  muttered  Fitz  in  my  ear. 

"Your  Excellency  appears  to  have  a  store  of  natural 
simplicity,"  said  the  Princess. 


130  MRS.    FITZ 

The  Ambassador  bowed. 

"Is  it  not  a  great  thing  to  have,  madam,  in  these 
days?" 

"Has  it  not  occurred  to  your  Excellency  that  it  is 
a  luxury  that  those  who  would  serve  their  Sovereign 
occasionally  deny  themselves?" 

"If  it  pleases  your  Royal  Highness  to  exercise  your 
delightful  wit  at  the  expense  of  the  humblest  servant 
of  the  good  King !" 

"It  does  not  please  me,  Excellency.  It  grieves  me 
to  the  heart." 

With  an  address  that  was  remarkable  the  Princess 
changed  her  tone.  Quite  suddenly  the  clear  and  mellow 
inflection  of  light  banter  was  exchanged  for  one  of 
coldly-wrought  reproof. 

"I  am  sorry,  madam,"  said  the  Ambassador  simply 
and  with  sincerity;  "I  am  a  thousand  times  sorry.  I 
can  never  forgive  myself  if  I  have  wounded  the  suscepti- 
bilities of  your  Royal  Highness.  Already  I  had  hoped 
I  had  made  it  clear  that  the  least  of  your  servants  has 
not  been  a  free  agent  in  all  that  has  been  done.  I  am 
the  humble  instrument  of  an  august  master." 

"I  agree  with  you,  Herr  Baron,  that  the  King  in  his 
wisdom  cannot  do  wrong.  But  it  is  because  you  have 
betrayed  the  service  of  your  master  that  I  am  un- 
happy." 

The  Herr  Baron  lowered  his  eyes. 

"Please  God,"  he  said  humbly,  "the  least  of  the  King's 
servants  will  never  betray  the  service  of  him  to  whom 
he  owes  everything." 

The  Princess  laughed,  a  little  cruelly. 


FURTHER  PASSAGES  131 

"Speeches,  Baron,"  said  she. 

"Will  your  Royal  Highness  deign  to  explain  in  what 
manner  I  have  betrayed  the  service  of  my  master?" 

"If  you  press  the  question,  I  will  answer  it.  At  the 
command  of  the  King,  you  take  me  by  force  and  you  im- 
prison me  in  your  house  until  that  hour  in  which  I  can 
be  removed  to  the  Castle  at  Blaenau.  And  then  in  an 
unlucky  moment,  you  open  the  door  of  my  cage,  and  I 
am  once  again  a  free  person  in  the  company  of  my 
friends." 

The  Princess  rose  abruptly  and  with  a  disdain  that 
was  like  a  rapier  suffered  Fitz  to  place  the  cloak  about 
her  shoulders. 

The  Ambassador  retained  his  self-possession.  In  his 
bearing,  in  the  cold  lustre  of  his  eyes,  in  the  rigidity 
of  the  jaw,  were  the  evidences  of  an  inflexible  will. 

"The  orders,  madam,  of  the  King,  my  master,  are 
explicit,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "It  grieves  me  bit- 
terly that  I  cannot  suffer  them  to  be  set  aside." 

"So  be  it,  Herr  Baron."  The  great  dark  eyes  of  the 
Princess  transfixed  the  Ambassador  like  a  pair  of 
swords. 

In  the  midst  of  these  passages  Fitz  reassumed  his 
role  of  generalissimo. 

"Arbuthnot,"  he  whispered  to  me,  "you  and  Brasset 
and  Vane-Anstruther  guard  the  farthest  door.  Let  no 
one  enter  or  pass  out.  Coverdale  and  O'Mulligan  will 
look  after  the  other  one." 

In  silence  and  without  ostentation,  we  disposed  our- 
selves accordingly.  Clearly  it  had  not  occurred  to  the 
Ambassador  to  expect  compulsion  to  be  levied  in  his 


132  MRS.    FITZ 

own  house,  by  half  a  dozen  commonplace  civilians  in 
black  coats. 

We  had  hardly  taken  up  our  places  when  Fitz,  who 
stood  by  the  side  of  the  Princess,  received  from  her 
a  look  that  was  also  a  command.  Thereupon  for  the 
first  time,  he  deigned  to  address  the  Ambassador. 

"Baron  von  Arlenberg,"  he  said,  "the  friends  of  her 
Royal  Highness  have  no  wish  to  use  force  majeure,  but 
her  Royal  Highness  desires  me  to  inform  you  that  she 
has  it  at  her  disposal.  All  the  same,  she  is  hopeful  that 
your  natural  good  sense  will  spare  her  the  necessity  of 
employing  it." 

Fitz's  words  were  well  spoken,  but  his  tone,  scrupu- 
lously restrained  as  it  was,  had  an  undercurrent  of 
menace  that  the  Ambassador  and  his  two  secretaries 
could  hardly  fail  to  detect.  The  cold  eyes  of  his  Ex- 
cellency seemed  to  blaze  with  fury,  but  he  made  no 
reply. 

The  Princess  took  the  arm  of  her  husband,  and 
moved  a  pace  in  the  direction  of  the  farther  door.  At 
the  same  moment  the  Ambassador  made  a  movement 
to  the  left  where  a  bell  rope  hung  from  the  wall. 

"Baron  von  Arlenberg,"  said  Fitz  in  a  tone  that 
compelled  him  to  stay  where  he  was ;  "if  you  touch  that 
rope  I  shall  blow  out  your  brains." 

Fitz  had  the  revolver  in  his  hand  already.  He  cov- 
ered the  Ambassador  imperturbably.  The  two  secre- 
taries, although  confused  by  the  swiftness  of  the  act, 
moved  forward. 

"Keep  away  from  the  bell  rope,  gentlemen,"  said 
Fitz.  "I  shall  not  hesitate." 


FURTHER  PASSAGES  133 

The  secretaries  halted  indecisively  beside  their  chief, 
and  as  they  did  so,  Coverdale  left  his  post  by  the  nearer 
door,  and  revolver  in  hand,  solemnly  mounted  guard 
over  the  bell  rope. 

"I  am  afraid,  gentlemen,"  said  Fitz,  "you  have  no 
choice  other  than  to  respect  the  wishes  of  the  Princess. 
And  she  desires  that  you  stay  in  this  room  until  she 
has  left  the  Embassy." 

However,  with  all  his  coolness,  Fitz  had  made  two 
important  miscalculations.  On  the  right  there  was 
another  bell  rope  and  there  was  also  the  lady  of  the 
silver  hair,  the  Margravine  of  Lesser  Grabia.  I  sprang 
from  my  post,  and  literally  wrenched  the  rope  from  her 
fingers,  but  not  before  she  had  pulled  it  as  hard  as  she 
could. 

Escorted  by  Fitz,  the  Princess  passed  out  of  the 
room,  while  the  friends  of  her  Royal  Highness  assumed 
an  aspect  of  quiet  but  determined  hostility,  in  order 
to  prevent  the  Ambassador,  his  secretaries,  the  Mar- 
gravine who  looked  furious,  and  the  fair  player  of 
Schumann,  who  appeared  to  be  consumed  with  mirth, 
from  following  her. 

Hardly  had  the  Princess  passed  through  the  farther 
door,  which  Brasset  and  Jodey  had  the  honour  of  hold- 
ing for  her,  before  the  Countess  Etta  von  Zweidelheim 
collapsed  upon  a  convenient  sofa. 

"It  is  better  than  Offenbach!"  she  said,  beginning 
to  weep  softly. 

Whether  it  was  actually  better  than  Offenbach,  I 
am  not  competent  to  affirm,  but  I  can  answer  for  it 
that  for  all  except  that  charming  but  risible  lady  it 


134  MRS.    FITZ 

was  a  great  deal  more  serious.  The  Ambassador  was 
a  brave  man,  and  he  had  strength  of  will,  but  as  becomes 
one  of  his  calling  he  was  in  no  sense  a  fool.  He  had  seen 
that  in  the  eyes  of  Fitz  which  had  assured  him  that  a 
too-punctilious  regard  for  the  will  of  his  Sovereign 
would  not  only  be  futile,  but  indiscreet.  And  no  sooner 
had  Fitz  and  the  royal  lady  vanished  from  his  ken,  than 
there  were  Coverdale  and  the  rest  of  us  to  contend  with. 

The  Chief  Constable  with  his  back  to  the  wall,  even 
without  a  firearm  in  his  stolid  fist,  is  a  very  considerable 
figure  of  a  man  who  will  not  brook  nonsense  from  any- 
body. Then  Alexander  O'Mulligan,  by  the  farther 
door,  had  a  personality  by  no  means  deficient  in  per- 
suasiveness. 

Scarcely  had  the  Princess  departed  before  O'Mulli- 
gan's  door  was  tried  from  without.  The  amateur  mid- 
dle weight  champion  of  Great  Britain  set  his  back 
against  it  with  great  success. 

"Help!  help!"  called  the  Margravine  in  a  deep  bay 
which  it  seemed  to  our  alarmed  ears  must  have  been 
audible  for  half  a  mile.  "Save  the  Princess!  Help! 
Help!" 

In  response  to  the  appeal,  a  greater  and  ever-increas- 
ing pressure  was  brought  to  bear  upon  the  door.  The 
hinges  groaned,  and  the  panels  trembled;  and  at  last 
Alexander  O'Mulligan  suddenly  withdrew  his  weight, 
and  divers  persons  tumbled  headlong,  one  over  another, 
pell  mell  into  the  room. 

"I  think  we  had  better  go,"  said  Coverdale,  in  the 
midst  of  this  chaos. 

The  five  remaining  champions  of  the  Princess's  free- 


FURTHER  PASSAGES  135 

dom  gathered  together,  and,  their  weapons  still  in  hand, 
withdrew  in  excellent  order.  But  one  resplendent  apart- 
ment led  to  another,  equally  resplendent,  and  amid  the 
labyrinth  of  doors  and  corridors,  we  could  not  find  the 
staircase.  And  immediately  behind  us  the  outraged 
Ambassador  and  his  retinue  were  gaining  every  instant 
in  numbers  and  morale. 

The  situation  was  ludicrous,  yet  not  without  its  peril. 
It  was  hard  to  know  what  would  happen,  and  there  was 
very  little  time  in  which  to  form  a  conjecture.  Besides 
it  was  of  great  importance  that  we  should  find  our  way 
downstairs  without  delay,  for  our  presence  there  might 
be  sorely  needed. 

As  it  happened,  our  thanks  were  due  to  the  Ambas- 
sador, that  we  were  able  to  find  the  staircase.  For  he 
and  a  number  of  excited  persons  flocked  past  us  and 
pointed  a  direct  course  thereto.  They  got  down  first, 
but  we  followed  hard  upon  their  heels. 

On  the  ground  floor  all  was  peace.  The  men  in  livery 
and  divers  stray  officials  were  serenely  unconscious  of 
what  had  occurred.  Fitz  had  donned  his  overcoat,  and 
with  stupendous  coolness  was  preparing  to  depart. 
Just  as  the  Ambassador  came  into  view,  he  led  the  Prin- 
cess into  the  outer  vestibule. 

"They  can't  stop  'em  now,"  said  Coverdale.  "We 
had  better  look  after  our  coats  and  hats,  and  then  find 
our  way  to  the  Savoy." 

This  was  true  enough,  for  the  door  leading  to  the 
street  was  already  open. 

Waiting  by  the  kerb  was  an  electric  brougham  which 
Fitz  had  had  the  forethought  to  provide.  Coverdale 


136  MRS.    FITZ 

and  I  retrieved  our  property  from  the  waiting  room 
at  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  while  the  others  went  in 
search  of  theirs ;  and  so  quickly  was  this  accomplished, 
that  we  were  able  to  witness  an  incident  that  was  not 
the  least  memorable  of  the  many  of  that  amazing 
evening. 

The  Ambassador  realised  that  the  game  was  lost  as 
soon  as  he  saw  the  open  door  and  the  brougham  in 
readiness.  Therefore  he  refrained  from  passing  be- 
yond the  inner  vestibule.  It  is  expected  of  an  ambas- 
sador that  he  shall  do  no  hurt  to  his  dignity  in  the  most 
exacting  situations. 

But  there  is  an  astonishing  incident  still  to  be  re- 
corded. Fitz  having  placed  the  Princess  in  safety  in 
the  brougham,  returned  into  the  house.  Walking 
straight  up  to  the  Ambassador,  he  addressed  him  in 
terms  of  measured  insult. 

"You  cowardly  dog,"  he  said.  "I  would  shoot  you 
like  a  cur  if  it  were  not  for  the  laws  of  the  country. 
You  are  not  worth  hanging  for.  But  I  will  meet  you  at 
Paris  at  the  first  opportunity.  Here  is  my  card." 

Before  he  could  be  prevented  he  gave  the  Ambassador 
a  blow  upon  the  cheek  with  his  open  hand.  It  was  not 
heavy,  but  it  was  premeditated. 

The  members  of  the  Embassy  closed  around  Fitz. 

"Come  into  the  ballroom,  sir,"  said  the  Ambassador, 
who  had  turned  deadly  pale. 

"When  I  have  seen  the  Princess  into  safety,  I  will 
oblige  you,"  said  Fitz.  "But  it  would  be  more  con- 
venient if  we  arranged  a  meeting  at  Paris." 

"You  shall  meet  me  now,  sir,"  said  the  Ambassador. 


FURTHER  PASSAGES  137 

Coverdale  moved  forward  into  the  circle  that  had 
been  formed. 

"I  am  afraid  that  is  impossible,"  said  the  Chief  Con- 
stable. "The  practice  of  duelling  has  no  sanction  in 
this  country.  For  all  concerned,  it  will  surely  be  more 
convenient  to  meet  at  Paris." 

Coverdale's  intention  was  pacific,  and  he  is  a  man 
of  weight,  but  the  principals  in  this  affair  were  likely 
to  be  too  much  for  him. 

"Arbuthnot,"  said  Fitz,  "be  good  enough  to  accom- 
pany the  Princess  to  the  Savoy.  We  will  come  on 
presently." 

For  a  moment  the  issue  hung  in  the  balance.  The 
Ambassador  had  demanded  satisfaction  and  Fitz  was 
more  than  willing  to  grant  it.  But  Coverdale  was 
equally  resolute.  To  the  best  of  my  capacity  I  sec- 
onded his  efforts,  but  with  men  so  headstrong  and  im- 
placable it  was  almost  impossible  to  exert  any  kind  of 
authority. 

"If  you  don't  care  to  support  me,"  said  Fitz,  to 
Coverdale,  "perhaps  you  will  not  mind  taking  the  place 
of  Arbuthnot.  I  daresay  you  other  fellows  will  come 
on  to  the  ballroom." 

To  our  dismay,  Fitz,  with  a  reassumption  of  the 
Napoleonic  manner,  turned  toward  the  staircase. 

"What  is  to  be  done?"  I 'inquired  of  the  Chief  Con- 
stable anxiously.  "I  am  a  man  of  peace  myself,  but 
one  of  us  must  see  him  through." 

"I  agree  with  you — the  cursed  firebrand !  But  one 
of  us  must  stay,  and  the  other  must  look  after  the 
Princess." 


138  MRS.    FITZ 

The  Chief  Constable  did  not  conceal  the  fact  that  he 
had  a  predilection  for  the  latter  duty. 

"I  don't  know  much  about  affairs  of  honour,"  said 
I,  "and  I  should  greatly  prefer  that  a  man  of  more 
experience  took  a  thing  like  this  in  hand;  but  I  can 
quite  believe  that  your  official  position " 

"Official  position  be  damned!"  said  the  Chief  Con- 
stable. "If  you  honestly  think  I  shall  be  of  more  use 
than  you,  there  is  no  more  to  be  said.  We  are  here  to 
make  ourselves  useful  and  we  must  see  this  thing 
through." 

"Very  well,  I  will  look  after  the  Princess,  and  you 
go  to  the  ballroom  and  do  what  you  can  to  save  the 
situation." 


CHAPTER  XIV 
A  DEPLORABLE  INCIDENT 

IT  WAS  with  a  feeling  akin  to  despair  that  I  saw 
Coverdale  follow  the  others  up  the  stairs.  In  the  first 
place  my  own  position  was  invidious.  But  there  was 
nothing  to  be  done.  It  was  beyond  question  that  Fitz 
must  have  a  tried  man  like  Coverdale  at  his  elbow,  whilst 
also  it  was  necessary  that  a  person  with  some  preten- 
sions to  responsibility  should  take  charge  of  the  lady 
who  was  safely  outside  in  the  electric  brougham.  Yet, 
uppermost  in  my  thoughts,  was  a  more  insistent  care. 
The  affair  had  taken  a  very  ugly  turn.  Fitz  had  shown 
himself  to  be  a  man  who  did  not  stick  at  trifles,  whilst 
von  Arlenberg,  unless  his  manner  belied  him,  was  cast  in 
a  similar  mould. 

It  was  therefore  with  some  uneasiness,  that  I  went 
to  offer  my  services  to  her  Royal  Highness.  That 
distinguished  personage  was  seated  greatly  at  her  ease, 
yet  with  a  slight  frown  upon  her  somewhat  imperious 
countenance. 

"Where  is  Nefil?"  said  she. 

"I  have  to  tell  you,  ma'am,"  said  I,  "that  Mr.  Fitz- 
waren  is — er — discussing  certain  important  matters 
with  his  Excellency,  and  that  if  it  is  agreeable  to  you 
he  desires  me  to  accompany  you  to  your  hotel." 

139 


140  MRS.    FITZ 

"What  are  the  matters?"  Her  gaze  in  its  directness 
seemed  to  pass  right  through  me. 

"There  are — er — certain  details  that  have  to  be  ad- 
justed." 

"Well  I  hope  Nefil  will  be  able  to  shoot  straight." 

Whether  I  was  more  taken  aback  by  the  cynicism  of 
the  remark  or  by  its  sagacity,  it  would  be  fruitless  to 
inquire.  But  to  this  pious  hope  I  had  nothing  to  add ; 
and  I  stood  feeling  decidedly  uncomfortable  at  the  door 
of  the  car.  There  was  no  room  in  front  by  the  side  of 
the  chauffeur,  and  I  had  received  no  invitation  to  take 
a  seat  within. 

The  pause  was  awkward,  but  somehow  there  seemed 
to  be  no  help  for  it. 

"Well?"  said  the  lady,  not  without  a  suspicion  of 
acerbity. 

Even  that  I  could  not  take  for  an  invitation  to  get 
in.  I  stood  acutely  conscious  that  my  embarrassment 
told  against  me. 

"Aha,  les  Anglais!"  The  malice  was  not  too  genial. 
"Would  you  haf  me  open  the  door?" 

I  told  the  chauffeur  to  drive  to  the  Savoy,  and  took 
the  proffered  seat  by  the  side  of  the  Crown  Princess  of 
Illyria. 

The  discovery  has  no  claim  to  be  original,  but  in 
order  to  find  out  what  a  woman  really  is,  one  should  sit 
with  her  alone  and  tete-a-tete.  The  opportunity  for 
frankness  is  not  likely  to  be  neglected  upon  either  side, 
since  a  display  of  that  engaging  quality  upon  the  one 
part  seems  automatically  to  evoke  it  on  the  other. 

No  sooner  was  I  seated  by  the  side  of  Mrs.  Fitz  than 


A  DEPLORABLE  INCIDENT  141 

I  felt  more  at  ease.  She  was  so  sentient,  so  responsive ; 
a  creature  who,  beneath  the  trenchant  reserve  of  her 
manner,  was  alive  in  every  nerve. 

She  patted  my  knees  with  her  fan. 

"Aha,  Us  Anglais!"  In  the  light  of  the  lamps,  I 
thought  her  eyes  were  like  stars.  "So  brave,  so  honest 
and  so  bete — I  love  them  all!" 

The  spell  of  her  presence  seemed  to  overpower  me. 

"My  brave  Nefil  will  kill  him,  will  he  not?" 

"I  fear,"  said  I,  "that  one  of  them  will  not  see  to- 
morrow." 

"Indeed,  yes ;  it  cannot  be  otherwise." 

Her  calmness  amazed  me.  And  yet  there  was  nothing 
callous  or  unnatural  in  it.  Perhaps  it  might  be  de- 
scribed as  the  outward  expression  of  an  imperial  nature. 
At  least  that  was  the  impression  that  I  gained.  When 
her  servants  drew  their  swords  in  her  cause  they  must 
not  look  for  a  prick  in  the  arm.  Let  them  prepare  to 
stake  their  lives  and  to  yield  them  gladly.  I  shivered 
slightly;  it  was  barbarous  that  a  woman  could  thus 
offer  the  father  of  her  children  to  the  gods,  yet  it  was 
sublime. 

All  too  soon  we  arrived  at  the  restaurant  where  Fitz 
had  ordered  supper  for  seven.  The  place  was  filling 
up  rapidly  after  the  theatres.  We  sat  on  a  sofa  in  the 
foyer  to  wait  for  our  party;  I,  with  an  acute  anxiety 
and  a  sense  of  foreboding  that  held  me  tongue-tied; 
my  companion,  with  a  detachment  of  mind  that  in  the 
circumstances  seemed  almost  inhuman.  For  her  sake 
a  man  was  being  done  to  death ;  one  whom  she  loved,  or 
one  whom  her  father  honoured.  But  whatever  Fate's 


142  MRS.    FITZ 

decree,  her  nature  was  schooled  to  the  point  of  sab- 
mission. 

Seated  by  my  side  in  the  foyer,  she  subjected  the 
throng  of  returning  playgoers  to  a  frankly  humorous 
and  malicious  scrutiny.  These  English  who  were  so 
bete  amused  her  vastly.  The  clothes  they  wore,  the  airs 
they  gave  themselves,  the  things  they  did  and  the  things 
they  refrained  from  doing,  not  a  detail  escaped  that 
audaciously  frank,  that  alertly  curious  intelligence. 

"Your  women  are  not  as  you,  you  fine,  big  English 
good  dogs,"  she  said,  bestowing  another  indulgent  pat 
upon  my  knees.  "Les  Anglaises,  how  prim  and  pinched 
they  are,  what  dresses  they  wear,  and  how  they  do  walk ! 
But  I  adore  vos  jolis  hommes;  was  ever  such  distinc- 
tion, such  charm,  such  stupidity !  M on  pere  shall  have 
an  English  regiment.  I  will  raise  it  myself,  and  be  its 
colonel." 

Her  laughter  was  deep  and  rich  and  full  of  malice. 
Even  I,  stupid  and  stricken  with  fear  as  I  was,  was 
yet  sufficiently  indiscreet  to  attempt  to  seize  the  oppor- 
tunity. 

"It  will  be  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world,  ma'am* 
Have  you  not  raised  it  already?" 

Another  indulgent  pat  was  my  reward. 

"Tres  bon  enfant!  Quel  esprit!  You  shall  sit  by 
my  side  when  we  eat." 

Her  ridicule  had  a  velvet  sheath,  but  even  an  Eng- 
lishman, who  felt  as  miserably  ineffectual  as  did  I, 
was  susceptible  of  the  thrust. 

It  is  difficult  for  the  average  Briton,  acutely  conscious 
that  he  is  enduring  the  patronage  of  a  superior,  to  be 


A  DEPLORABLE  INCIDENT  143 

easy,  graceful  and  natural  in  his  bearing;  to  say  the 
appropriate  things  in  the  appropriate  way,  and  to 
carry  off  the  situation  lightly.  Every  moment  that  I 
sat  by  the  side  of  her  Royal  Highness  in  the  centre  of 
the  public  gaze,  I  felt  my  position  to  be  growing  more 
invidious.  The  pose  of  my  companion  seemed  to  be- 
come more  Olympian ;  while  if  I  ventured  a  half-hearted 
riposte  or  a  timid  pleasantry,  I  suffered  for  it;  or  if 
I  remained  silent  and  respectful,  and  that  after  all  is 
the  only  course  to  take  in  the  presence  of  our  betters, 
I  furnished  an  additional  example  of  the  heaviness  of 
my  countrymen. 

I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  less  I  said  the  better 
it  would  fare  with  my  over-sensitive  dignity,  but  even 
the  utterance  of  an  occasional  monosyllable  did  not  save 
me. 

"When  I  hear  the  big  dogs  growl,  the  English  mas- 
teefs,  I  say  to  myself,  'Ah,  the  dear  fellows,  how  ex- 
cellently they  speak  the  language !' ' 

Unless  one  springs  from  the  Chosen  Race,  it  takes 
more  than  three  generations  to  produce  a  courtier.  I 
felt  myself  to  be  growing  stiffer  and  generally  more 
infelicitous  in  my  demeanour.  And  then,  as  if  to  com- 
plete my  overthrow,  there  entered  the  foyer,  a  supper- 
party,  whose  appearance  on  the  scene  I  could  only 
regard  with  horror. 

Who  has  not  felt  that  among  the  astral  bodies  there 
is  a  malign  power,  a  kind  of  Court  Dramatist,  who 
arranges  sinister  coincidences  and  mischievous  surprises 
for  us  humble  denizens  below,  in  order  to  divert  the 
privileged  onlookers  sitting  in  heaven.  The  supper- 


MRS.    FITZ 

party  which  came  into  our  midst,  which  looked  as 
though  it  had  been  to  see  "The  Importance  of  Being 
Earnest,"  and  had  been  shocked  by  its  reprehensible 
levity,  consisted  of  Dumbarton,  our  illustrious  neigh- 
bour, "dear  Evelyn"  high  of  coiffure,  and  robed  in 
pink  satin,  the  august  Mrs.  Catesby,  and  the  highly 
respectable  George,  with  one  or  two  others  of  minor 
importance  as  far  as  this  narrative  is  concerned, 
although  in  other  spheres  not  prone  to  yield  pride  of 
place  to  anybody. 

It  was  clear  from  the  rigid,  slow  and  undeviating  man- 
ner in  which  the  ducal  party  walked  past  our  sofa,  that 
we  were  discovered.  Mrs.  Catesby,  in  particular,  gazed 
down  her  nose  with  really  awful  solemnity ;  George,  the 
highly  respectable,  wearing  his  Quarter  Sessions  ex- 
pression ;  Dumbarton,  looking  like  a  Royal  Duke 
painted  in  oils;  and  "dear  Evelyn,"  his  pink-robed 
spouse,  a  really  admirable  picture  of  what  can  be 
achieved  in  the  way  of  high-bred  hauteur.  I  can  only 
say,  that  speaking  for  myself,  I  addressed  a  humble 
prayer  to  heaven,  that  the  floor  might  open  and  let  me 
through. 

A  chill  of  apprehension  settled  upon  me.  I  sat  very 
close,  not  daring  to  move  an  eyelid. 

Alas !  as  the  procession  filed  past,  there  arose  a  note 
of  derision ;  a  clear,  resonant,  bell-like  note. 

"Ach,  pink!  Pink  in  dis  climate  and  wis  dat  com- 
plexion !" 

Even  the  chef  de  reception  was  compelled  to  follow 
the  example  of  Mrs.  Catesby  of  looking  down  his  nose 
with  really  awful  solemnity. 


A  DEPLORABLE  INCIDENT  145 

The  sweat  sprang  to  my  miserable  forehead.  I  never 
have  a  nightmare  now  without  I  dream  of  pink  satin. 
The  ducal  party  passed  beyond  our  ken,  leaving  me 
shattered  utterly  and  more  than  ever  at  the  mercy  of 
my  companion.  However,  to  my  relief,  "The  Stormy 
Petrel"  began  to  betray  a  care  in  regard  to  her  hus- 
band. It  began  to  seem  that  the  aim  of  his  adversary 
had  been  the  straighter. 

Fitz  was  certainly  a  desperate  fellow,  and  my  inter- 
course with  the  lady  whom  he  had  prevailed  upon  to 
share  his  name,  rendered  that  aspect  of  his  character 
the  more  clear.  What  enormous  grit  the  man  must 
have  to  abduct  such  a  lioness  and  to  attempt  to  keep 
house  with  her  upon  a  basis  of  equality.  But  had  he 
met  his  overthrow  at  last?  Had  he  tempted  fate  once 
too  often?  The  hands  of  the  clock  were  creeping  on 
towards  midnight. 

"Nefil  has  missed  his  aim."  The  voice  of  the  Prin- 
cess trembled. 

Almost  immediately,  however,  this  was  proved  to  be 
not  the  case.  There  were  further  arrivals  in  the  foyer ; 
five  men  entered  together,  and  the  first  of  these  was 
Fitz. 

It  may  have  been  the  fault  of  my  overwrought  fancy, 
but  it  seemed  to  me  that  each  of  the  five  was  looking 
excited  and  pale.  My  companion  rose  to  receive  them. 

"It  is  well,"  she  said.  "It  is  well."  She  turned  to 
Fitz  who  looked  ghastly,  and  extended  her  hand  with  a 
gesture  that  I  can  only  compare  to  that  of  Medusa. 

Fitz  bore  the  hand  to  his  lips. 


146  MRS.    FITZ 

"What  happened?"  I  said  to  Coverdale  in  a  hoarse 
whisper. 

"Don't  ask!"  he  said,  half  turning  away. 

"Do  you  mean "  I  said ;  but  the  sentence  died  in 

my  throat. 

The  invasion  of  the  supper  room  was  a  pretty  grave 
ordeal  to  have  to  face.  The  stress  of  that  day,  woven 
of  the  very  tissue  of  excitement,  had  told  upon  me ;  and 
again  I  was  in  the  grip  of  a  nameless  fear.  Instead  of 
following  in  the  train  of  Mrs.  Fitz  into  the  glare  of  a 
too  notorious  publicity,  I  wanted  to  run  away  and  hide 
myself. 

The  room  was  crowded  with  people  who  were  there 
to  see  and  to  be  seen.  We  had  to  make  our  way  past 
a  number  of  tables  to  one  reserved  for  us  at  the  far  end 
of  the  room.  In  the  middle  of  our  progress,  like  a  lion 
in  the  gate,  was  the  ducal  party  toying  elegantly  with 
quails  and  champagne. 

Each  member  of  her  Royal  Highness's  bodyguard, 
including  the  indomitable  O'Mulligan,  was  looking 
downcast  and  unhappy  and  far  from  his  best.  But  the 
lady  herself,  in  bearing  and  in  manner,  made  no  secret 
of  her  status.  She  was  the  Heiress-Apparent  to 
Europe's  oldest  monarchy  condescending  to  eat  in  the 
midst  of  barbarians. 

It  was  clear  that  the  ducal  party  was  fully  deter- 
mined to  take  an  extreme  course.  By  the  animation  of 
its  conversation  and  its  assiduous  regard  for  quails  and 
champagne,  it  evidently  hoped  to  make  the  fact  quite 
plain  that  our  privacy  would  be  respected  if  only  we  had 
the  decency  to  extend  a  like  indulgence  to  theirs. 


A  DEPLORABLE  INCIDENT  147 

Alas !  in  certain  kinds  of  warfare  there  are  no 
sanctities. 

"Ach,  pink !"  said  Mrs.  Fitz,  in  that  voice  which  had 
such  a  terrible  quality  of  penetration.  "Can  anyone 
tell  me  iuhy  pink " 

The  nervous  fancy  of  a  married  man,  a  father  of  a 
family  and  a  county  member  seemed  to  detect  a  titter 
from  the  adjoining  tables.  Coverdale  pressed  forward 
sombrely.  Her  Royal  Highness,  instinct  with  a  ruth- 
less and  humorous  disdain,  went  forward  too.  Fitz 
however,  lingered  a  moment,  and  touched  his  distin- 
guished neighbour  upon  the  shoulder  with  incredible 
Napoleonic  heartiness. 

"Hullo,  Duke!"  he  said. 

"How  are  you,  Fitzwaren?"  said  the  great  man,  in 
a  voice  that  seemed  to  come  out  of  his  shoes. 

"Never  mind  the  Missus!"  said  the  Man  of  Destiny 
with  a  comic  half-cock  of  the  left  eye  at  the  patrician 
aspect  of  her  Grace.  "It's  only  her  fun." 

The  man's  effrontery,  his  cynicism,  his  absence  of 
taste  were  staggering.  But  what  a  sublime  courage 
the  fellow  had.  On  he  sauntered  with  his  hands  buried 
in  his  pockets,  in  the  wake  of  Coverdale  and  her  Royal 
Highness.  Brasset  and  I,  walking  delicately,  were 
crowding  upon  his  heels,  when  what  can  only  be  de- 
scribed as  a  peremptory  and  insistent  hiss  recalled  us 
to  the  danger  zone. 

"Reggie !    Odo  Arbuthnot !" 

We  proffered  a  forlorn  salute  to  the  most  august  of 
her  sex. 

"Beg  pardon,  Mrs.  Catesby,  didn't  see  you,  y'know." 


148  MRS.    FITZ 

Brasset's  apologetic  feebleness  was  in  singular  and  pain- 
ful contrast  to  the  epic  breadth  of  the  inconceivable 
Fitz. 

"Don't  dare  to  offer  me  a  word,  either  of  you,"  said 
the  Great  Lady,  in  a  whisper  of  Homeric  truculence. 
"You  are  committing  the  act  of  social  suicide.  When 
I  think  of  your  mother,  Reggie,  and  of  your  wife  and 
daughter,  Odo  Arbuthnot,  I — but  I  will  say  nothing. 
But  it  is  social  suicide  for  all  of  you,  including  that 
fatuous  police  constable. 

The  flesh  cannot  endure  more  than  a  given  amount 
of  suffering,  although  the  measure  of  its  capacity  is  so 
terrible.  But  whatever  it  was,  I  was  already  past  it. 

"Pink  is  certainly  a  trying  colour,"  I  whispered. 

"Dear  Evelyn  will  never  forgive  it.  Have  none  of 
you  a  sense  of  decency?  It  is  madness!" 

I  agreed  that  it  was,  and  retreated  limply  to  the 
next  table  but  two. 

Our  supper  party  should  have  been  a  dismal  func- 
tion, but  somehow  it  was  not.  It  was  only  reasonable 
to  assume  that  some  fell  occurrence  had  taken  place 
at  the  Embassy,  but  whatever  its  nature  was,  its  wit- 
nesses began  to  pull  themselves  together  under  the  mag- 
netic influence  of  Mrs.  Fitz.  Her  imperious  gaiety,  if 
it  did  not  wholly  banish  Coverdale's  abysmal  gloom,  did 
much  to  make  it  less.  As  for  the  other  members  of  the 
party,  conscience-stricken  and  uneasy  at  heart  as  they 
were,  it  was  impossible  not  to  respond  to  her  power. 

Even  the  Master  of  Crackanthorpe,  whose  sense  of 
humour  is  of  a  decidedly  primitive  order,  indulged  in 
a  loud  guffaw  at  one  of  her  pungent  remarks. 


A  DEPLORABLE  INCIDENT  149 

"Restrain  yourself,  my  dear  fellow,  for  heaven's 
sake !"  I  admonished  him.  "Dumbarton  is  already  look- 
ing like  doom.  Your  presence  here  has  already  cost 
the  poultry  fund  fifty  pounds,  see  if  it  hasn't.  If  he 
hears  you  laugh  in  that  way  he  will  close  his  covers  and 
stick  up  wire." 

"Don't  care  what  he  does!"  said  the  Master  of  the 
Crackanthorpe,  with  an  unnatural  brightness  in  his 
eyes. 

The  siren  had  indeed  a  terrible  power.  The  imper- 
ious glance,  the  distended  nostril,  the  mobile  lips,  the 
skin  of  gleaming  olive,  the  whole  figure  vivid  with  the 
entrancing  charm  of  sex  and  the  romance  of  ages — 
who  were  we,  les  hommes  moyens  sensuels,  that  we 
should  have  the  strength  of  soul  to  resist  it  all?  Nature 
had  fashioned  a  sorceress ;  and  when  she  takes  the 
trouble  to  do  that,  she  bestows,  as  a  rule,  a  conscious- 
ness of  power  upon  her  chosen  instrument,  and  the 
determination  to  wield  it  ruthlessly.  We  drained  our 
glasses  and  basked  in  her  smiles. 

Our  laughter  waxed  higher;  our  joy  in  her  presence 
the  more  unguarded.  I  retained  discretion  enough  to 
be  aware  that  no  detail  of  our  conduct  was  lost  upon 
the  august  party  two  tables  away.  Every  guffaw  of 
which  we  were  guilty  would  be  used  against  us.  What 
had  happened  to  the  impeccable  tradition  of  reticence 
and  right  thinking  that  men  of  known  probity  should 
yield  with  this  publicity  to  the  blandishments  of  a  queen 
of  the  sawdust? 

It  was  a  desperately  unlucky  position;  but  we  were 
committed  to  it  irrevocably.  Nothing  now  could  save 


150  MRS.    FITZ 

our  good  name  among  our  neighbours.  Yet  that  half 
hour  after  midnight  was  crowded  and  glorious.  Who 
were  we,  weak-willed  mediocrities,  that  we  should  resist 
the  moment?  After  the  passes  we  had  braved  in  the 
service  of  one  so  splendid  and  so  ill-starred,  after  the 
long-drawn  suspense  we  had  endured,  could  we  be  insen- 
sible to  the  gay  music,  half-affectionate,  half-insolent, 
of  our  names  upon  her  lips  ? 

Coverdale  sat  by  the  right  of  the  sorceress,  I  by  the 
left — responsible  men — yet  even  with  the  Gorgon;s  eye 
of  the  Great  Lady  upon  us,  we  were  fain  to  publish  to 
the  world  that  we  were  neither  less  nor  more  than  the 
bond-slaves  of  the  circus  rider  from  Vienna. 


CHAPTER  XV 

AN  INTERNATIONAL  ISSUE 

BY  a  merciful  dispensation,  the  ducal  party  with- 
drew at  twenty-five  minutes  past  twelve,  doubtless  to 
avert  the  ignominy  of  compulsion  at  the  half -hour.  By 
that  means  we  were  at  least  spared  any  further  ordeal 
that  might  be  forthcoming  from  that  quarter.  And 
yet  would  it  have  been  an  ordeal?  That  conflict  which 
a  little  while  ago  had  seemed  so  demoralising  to  the 
overwrought  nerves,  was  now  only  too  likely  to  be 
hailed  as  the  sublimity  of  battle. 

We  were  loth  to  obey  the  inexorable  decree  of  the 
Licensing  Act,  but  there  was  no  choice.  Happily  the 
five  minutes'  start  enjoyed  by  our  friends  and  neigh- 
bours, gave  us  a  clear  field;  and  without  further  mis- 
adventure, "The  Stormy  Petrel"  was  escorted  to  her 
chariot.  She  drove  off  with  Fitz  to  her  hotel,  while  the 
rest  of  us,  in  no  humour  for  repose,  yielded  to  the  sug- 
gestion of  Alexander  O'Mulligan,  "that  we  should 
toddle  round  to  Jermyn  Street  and  draw  him  for  a 
drink." 

It  hsd  begun  to  freeze.  Although  the  pavements 
were  like  glass,  overhead  the  stars  were  wonderful. 
The  shrewd  air  was  like  a  balm  for  the  fumes  of  the 
wine  and  the  spirit  of  lawlessness  that  had  aroused  us 

151 


152  MRS.    FITZ 

to  a  pitch  of  exaltation  that  was  almost  dangerous. 
We  decided  to  walk,  if  only  to  lessen  the  tension  upon 
our  nerves.  The  three  junior  members  of  the  con- 
spiracy walked  ahead,  a  little  roisterous  of  aspect,  arm 
in  arm,  uncertain  of  gait — to  be  sure  the  condition  of 
the  streets  afforded  every  excuse — and  their  hats  askew. 
At  a  respectful  distance  and  in  a  fashion  more  decorous 
they  were  followed  by  the  Chief  Constable  and  myself. 

"And  now,  Coverdale,"  said  I,  "have  the  goodness 
to  explain  what  you  meant  when  you  told  me  not  to 
ask  what  happened  to  the  Ambassador?" 

I  received  no  answer. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  I  urged,  "I  think  I  am  entitled 
to  know." 

"You  ought  to  be  able  to  guess !" 

"I  don't  understand ;  Fitz  is  certainly  safe  and  sound. 
How  did  you  manage  to  bring  them  to  reason  ?" 

"They  were  not  brought  to  reaeon." 

The  grim  tone  alarmed  me. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

I  stopped  under  a  street  lamp  to  look  into  the  face 
of  my  companion. 

"I  simply  mean  this,"  said  he.  "The  madman  shot 
him  dead!" 

Involuntarily  I  reeled  against  the  lamp  post. 

"You  can't  mean  that,"  I  said  feebly. 

"If  only  we  could  deceive  ourselves !"  said  Coverdale, 
in  a  hoarse  tone.  "All  the  time  I  sat  at  supper  with 
that — that  woman  I  was  trying  to  persuade  myself  that 
the  thing  had  not  happened.  The  whole  business  ought 
to  be  a  fantastic  dream,  but,  my  God,  it  isn't !" 


AN  INTERNATIONAL  ISSUE  153 

"Well,  it  was  his  life  or  Fitz's,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,  there  can  be  no  question  about  that.  The  Em- 
bassy people  admit  it.  And  there  is  this  to  be  said  for 
those  fellows ;  they  know  how  to  play  the  game." 

"A  pretty  low  down  game  anyhow.  If  they  steal  a 
man's  wife,  they  must  take  the  consequences." 

"I  agree;  but  the  circumstances  were  exceptional. 
And  give  those  fellows  their  due,  as  soon  as  we  came 
to  the  ballroom  they  played  the  game  right  up." 

"What  will  happen?" 

"No  one  can  say;  but  they  can  be  trusted  to  give 
nothing  away." 

"But  surely  the  whole  thing  must  come  out?" 

"Quite  possibly ;  but  one  prefers  to  hope  that  it  may 
not.  It  is  a  very  ugly  affair,  involving  international 
issues ;  but  the  First  Secretary — I  forget  his  name — 
appeared  to  take  a  very  matter  of  fact  and  common- 
sense  view  of  it.  After  all,  Fitzwaren  has  merely  vindi- 
cated his  rights." 

Dismally  enough  we  followed  in  the  wake  of  the 
others.  All  day  we  had  been  hovering  between  tragedy 
and  farce,  never  quite  knowing  what  would  be  the  out- 
come of  the  extravaganza  in  which  we  were  bearing  a 
part.  But  now  we  had  the  answer  with  no  uncertainty. 

"All  along,  some  such  sequel  as  this  was  to  be  feared," 
said  I,  "and  yet  I  fail  to  see  that  any  real  blame  at- 
taches to  us." 

"Do  you!  If  you  ask  my  opinion,  we  have  all  been 
guilty  of  unpardonable  folly  in  backing  this  fellow, 
Fitzwaren.  Really,  I  can't  think  what  we  have  been 
about.  Before  the  last  has  been  heard  of  this  business, 


154  MRS.    FITZ 

it  strikes  me  that  there  will  be  the  devil  to  pay  all 
round." 

In  my  heart  I  felt  only  too  clearly  that  this  was 
the  truth. 

At  O'Mulligan's  rooms  we  drank  out  of  long  glasses 
and  were  accorded  the  privilege  of  inspecting  his 
"pots."  The  trophies  of  the  amateur  middle  weight 
champion  of  Great  Britain,  who  claimed  Dublin  as  his 
natal  city,  made  an  extremely  brave  array.  But  neither 
they  nor  the  refreshment  that  was  offered  to  us  were 
able  to  dispel  the  gloom  that  had  descended  upon  one 
and  all. 

"There  is  one  thing  to  be  said  for  this  chap,  Fitz- 
waren,"  said  Alexander  O'Mulligan,  in  a  tone  that  was 
not  devoid  of  reverence.  "He  is  grit  all  through!" 

Truth  there  might  be  in  this  reflection,  but  there 
was  little  consolation.  Sadly  we  bade  adieu  to  Alex- 
ander O'Mulligan  and  went  to  our  hotel  to  bed,  yet  not 
to  sleep.  For  myself,  I  can  answer  that  throughout  the 
night  I  had  dark  forebodings  and  distorted  images  for 
my  bedfellows;  and  it  was  not  until  it  was  almost  time 
to  rise  that  I  was  at  last  able  to  snatch  a  brief  doze. 

It  was  fair  to  assume  that  the  slumbers  of  the  others 
had  been  equally  precarious,  for  at  ten  o'clock  I  found 
myself  to  be  the  first  of  our  party  at  the  breakfast 
table.  In  a  few  minutes  I  was  joined  by  Coverdale, 
who  carried  the  morning  paper  in  his  hand.- 

H-J  directed  my  attention  to  the  obituary  notice  of 
H.  E.  the  Illyrian  Ambassador  who,  it  appeared,  had 
met  his  death  at  the  Illyrian  Embassy  in  Portland 
Place,  at  11.30  o'clock  the  previous  evening,  in  pecu- 


AN  INTERNATIONAL  ISSUE  155 

liarly  tragic  and  distressing  circumstances.  It  ap- 
peared that  his  Excellency,  a  noted  shot  who  took  a 
keen  interest  in  firearms  of  every  description,  was  en- 
gaged in  demonstrating  to  various  members  of  the 
Embassy  certain  merits  in  the  mechanism  of  a  new  type 
of  revolver,  of  which  his  Excellency  claimed  to  be  the 
inventor,  when  the  weapon  went  off,  killing  the  unfor- 
tunate nobleman  instantly.  The  brief  statement  of  the 
tragic  event  was  followed  by  a  eulogium,  in  which  the 
dead  Ambassador's  martial,  political  and  social  at- 
tainments, and  the  irreparable  loss,  not  only  to  his 
sovereign,  but  to  the  polity  of  nations,  was  dealt  with 
at  length. 

"Those  fellows  have  done  well,"  said  Coverdale. 
"But  I  should  be  glad  to  think  that  the  last  has  been 
heard  of  this." 

This  conviction  I  shared  with  the  Chief  Constable, 
but  it  was  good  to  find  that  thus  far  Illyrian  diplomacy 
had  proved  equal  to  the  occasion.  It  had  the  effect  of 
giving  me  a  better  appetite  for  breakfast,  and  in  con- 
sequence I  ordered  two  boiled  eggs  instead  of  one. 

There  was  one  other  item  of  sinister  interest  to  be 
found  among  the  morning's  news.  In  glancing  over  it 
my  attention  was  drawn  to  the  brief  account  of  a  mys- 
terious tragedy  which  had  been  enacted  in  Hyde  Park 
near  the  Broad  Walk  the  previous  evening  between  six 
and  seven  o'clock.  A  man,  who  according  to  papers 
found  in  his  possession,  bore  the  name  of  Ludovic  Bol- 
land,  of  Illyrian  extraction,  had  been  found  dead  with 
a  bullet  wound  in  the  brain.  It  was  not  clear  whether 
it  was  a  case  of  murder  or  suicide.  The  police  inclined 


156  MRS.    FITZ 

to  the  former  opinion,  but  at  present  were  not  in  pos- 
session of  any  information  capable  of  throwing  light 
upon  the  subject. 

I  did  not  reveal  to  Coverdale  the  fell  suspicion  that 
I  could  not  keep  out  of  my  thoughts.  The  incident  of 
the  taxi  following  us,  the  foreign-looking  man  who  had 
entered  the  hotel,  and  Fitz's  words  and  subsequent  con- 
duct, all  conspired  to  form  a  theory  that  I  was  very  loth 
to  entertain  and  yet  from  which  I  was  unable  to  escape. 
It  certainly  had  the  effect  of  making  me  profoundly 
uncomfortable  and  caused  the  second  egg  I  had  ordered 
to  be  superfluous  after  all. 

Beyond  all  things  now  I  longed  to  return  to  my 
country  home  without  delay.  The  past  twenty-four 
hours  formed  a  page  in  my  existence  which,  if  impos- 
sible to  erase,  I  earnestly  desired  to  forget. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

HORSE  AND  HOUND 

IN  SPITE  of  the  fact  that  Fitz  had  accepted  Alex- 
ander O'Mulligan's  invitation  to  witness  "Burns's  do 
with  the  'Gunner'  "  at  the  National  Sporting  Club  that 
evening,  he  retrieved  his  motor  from  the  garage  in 
Regent  Street,  wherein  Illyrian  diplomacy  had  placed 
it,  and  immediately  after  luncheon  set  out  for  the  coun- 
try with  that  other  item  of  his  recovered  property. 
He  was  accompanied  by  Coverdale.  The  Chief  Con- 
stable seemed  to  feel  that  the  peace  of  our  county  could 
not  endure  if  he  spent  another  night  in  the  metropolis. 
He  was  certainly  able  to  return  in  the  simple  conscious- 
ness of  having  done  his  duty.  Like  a  man  and  a  brother 
he  had  stood  by  a  fellow  Englishman  in  the  hour  of 
his  need. 

To  one  of  primitive  rural  instincts,  such  as  myself, 
London  under  even  the  most  favourable  conditions  is 
apt  to  pall.  During  the  reaction  which  followed  the 
excitements  of  the  previous  night  it  filled  me  with  loath- 
ing. But  I  owed  it  to  an  ingrained  love  of  veracity 
that  I  should  drive  to  Bolton  Street  to  offer  consolation 
to  my  grandmother  in  the  hour  of  her  affliction.  She 
is  a  charming  old  lady,  and  she  knows  the  world.  She 
was  unaffectedly  glad  to  see  me  and  immediately  ordered 

157 


158  MRS.    FITZ 

a  fire  to  be  lit  in  the  guest-chamber,  although  "she 
really  didn't  know  that  I  was  in  need  of  money."  My 
explanation  that  it  was  spontaneous  natural  affection 
which  had  led  me  to  seek  first-hand  information  on  the 
perennial  subject  of  her  bronchitis,  merely  provoked  a 
display  of  the  engaging  scepticism  that  seems  to  flourish 
in  the  hearts  of  old  ladies  of  considerable  private  means. 

At  the  first  moment  consistent  with  honour,  to  be 
precise,  on  the  following  Monday  at  noon,  I  found 
myself  on  No.  2  platform  at  the  Grand  Central.  The 
guilt  of  my  conscience  was  agreeably  countered  by  the 
thrill  of  relief  in  my  heart.  I  was  going  back  to  the 
Madam  and  Miss  Lucinda.  Less  than  three  days  ago 
long  odds  had  been  laid  by  an  overwrought  fancy  that 
I  should  never  see  them  again.  Howbeit,  the  fates  in 
their  boundless  leniency,  had  ordained  that  I  should 
return  to  tell  the  tale. 

Yet  if  I  must  confess  the  truth,  such  havoc  had  been 
worked  with  the  delicately-hung  nervous  system  of  "a 
married  man,  a  father  of  a  family  and  a  county  mem- 
ber" that  it  would  not  have  surprised  me  in  the  least, 
even  now  I  had  taken  my  ticket  for  Middleham,  to  find 
the  hand  of  a  well  dressed  detective  laid  on  my  shoulder, 
or  to  find  a  revolver  next  my  temple  at  the  instance  of 
some  sombre  alien.  Still  these  fears  were  hardly  worthy 
of  the  broad  light  of  day  or  of  the  distinction  of  my 
escort.  Not  only  was  my  relation  by  marriage  return- 
ing with  me,  but  he  had  prevailed  upon  the  amateur 
middle  weight  champion  of  Great  Britain  to  accept 
Brasset's  cordial  invitation  that  he  should  satisfy  him- 
self that  the  gentle  art  of  chasing  the  fox  was  quite  as 


HORSE  AND  HOUND  159 

well  understood  by  the  Crackanthorpe  Hounds  as  by 
the  Galway  Blazers. 

In  the  presence  of  Alexander  O'Mulligan's  epic 
breadth  of  manner  it  was  impossible  for  a  man  to  take 
pessimistic  views  of  his  destiny.  If  I  had  a  suspicion 
of  the  skill  of  a  Dickens  or  a  Thackeray  I  should  try 
to  give  that  "touch  of  the  brogue"  which  flavoured  the 
conversation  of  this  paladin  like  a  subtle  condiment. 
Attached  to  our  express  in  a  loose  box,  in  the  care  of  a 
native  of  Kerry,  was  "an  accomplished  lepper"  up  to 
fifteen  stone,  not  merely  the  envy  of  the  Blazers,  but 
of  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the  kingdom  of  Ire- 
land. If  his  price  was  not  three  hundred  of  the  yellow 
boys,  his  owner  cordially  invited  anybody — anybody  to 
contradict  him  violently. 

Next  to  Alexander  O'Mulligan's  horse  and  his 
breadth  of  manner,  his  clothes  call  for  mention.  Their 
cut  and  style  must  be  pronounced  as  "sporting."  In 
particular  his  waistcoat  was  a  thing  of  beauty.  It 
was  a  canary  of  the  purest  dye,  forming  a  really 
piquant,  indeed  aesthetic,  contrast  to  the  delicate  tint 
of  green  in  his  eye.  The  presence  in  that  organ  of 
that  genial  hue  is  thought  by  some  to  invite  the  pre- 
sumption of  the  worldly;  but  according  to  Joseph 
Jocelyn  De  Vere  Vane-Anstruther,  whose  humble  devo- 
tion to  his  hero  was  almost  pathetic,  it  called  for  a  very 
stout  fellow  indeed  "to  try  it  on"  with  the  amateur 
middle  weight  champion  of  Great  Britain. 

Nevertheless,  like  every  paladin  of  the  great  breed, 
Alexander  O'Mulligan  was  as  gentle  as  he  was  brave. 
He  had  hardly  set  foot  in  Dympsfield  House,  which 


160  MRS.    FITZ 

he  did  somewhere  about  tea-time  on  the  day  of  his 
arrival  in  our  parish,  before  he  captured  the  heart  of 
Miss  Lucinda.  He  straightway  assumed  the  role  of  a 
bear  with  the  most  realistic  and  thrilling  completeness. 
Not  only  was  his  growl  like  distant  thunder  in  the  moun- 
tains, but  also  he  had  the  faculty  of  rolling  his  eyes  in 
a  savage  frenzy,  and  over  and  above  everything  else, 
a  tendency  to  bite  your  legs  upon  little  or  no  provoca- 
tion. It  was  not  until  he  had  promised  to  marry  her 
that  she  could  be  induced  to  part  with  him. 

The  ruler  of  Dympsfield  House  returned  from 
Doughty  Bridge,  Yorks.,  equally  felicitous  in  her 
health  and  in  her  temper.  We  dined  agreeably  tete-a- 
tete  with  the  aid  of  Heidsieck  cuvee  1889.  I  reported 
that  the  venerable  inhabitant  of  Bolton  Street,  May- 
fair,  was  supporting  her  affliction  with  her  accustomed 
grace  and  resignation ;  and  duly  received  the  benedic- 
tion of  my  parents-in-law,  who  in  the  opinion  of  their 
youngest  daughter  had  never  been  in  more  vigorous 
health,  which  is  no  more  than  one  expects  to  hear  of 
those  who  dedicate  their  lives  to  virtue. 

I  was  in  the  act  of  paring  an  apple  when  Mrs.  Ar- 
buthnot  said  with  an  air  of  detachment  that  was  Vane- 
Anstruther  of  very  good  quality:  "By  the  way,  has 
anything  been  heard  of  that  creature?" 

"Creature,  my  angel?"  said  I.  If  my  tone  conveyed 
anything  it  was  that  the  world  contained  only  one 
creature,  and  she  at  that  moment  was  balancing  a  piece 
of  preserved  ginger  on  her  fruit  knife. 

"The  circus  woman." 

"Circus  woman?"  said  I  blandly.     Our  glasses  were 


HORSE  AND  HOUND  161 

half  empty  and  I  filled  them  up.  "Somehow,"  said  I, 
"this  stuff  does  not  seem  equal  to  the  Bellinger  that 
your  father  sends  us  at  Christmas."  Strictly  speak- 
ing this  was  not  altogether  the  case,  but  then  truth  has 
many  aspects  as  the  pagan  philosophers  have  found 
occasion  to  observe. 

"Mrs.  Fitz,  you  goose!" 

"She  has  come  home,  I  believe,"  said  I,  with  a  casual 
air,  which  all  the  same  belonged  to  the  region  of  fin- 
ished diplomacy. 

"Come  home !"  The  fount  of  my  felicity  indulged  in 
a  glower  that  can  only  be  described  as  truculent,  but 
her  flutelike  tones  had  a  little  piping  thrill  that  soft- 
ened its  effect  considerably.  "Come  home!  Do  you 
mean  to  say  that  Fitz  has  taken  her  back  again?" 

"There  is  reason  to  believe  he  has  done  so." 

"What  amazing  creatures  men  are!" 

"Yes,  mon  enfant,  we  have  the  authority  of  Haeckel, 
that  matter  assumed  a  very  remarkable  guise  when  man 
evolved  himself  out  of  mud  and  water." 

"Don't  be  trivial,  Odo.  To  think  she  has  dared  to 
come  home.  If  I  were  a  man  and  my  wife  bolted  with 
the  chauffeur,  I  wonder  if  she  would  dare  to  come  home 
again  ?" 

"The  hypothesis  is  unthinkable.  Freedom  and  poetry 
and  romance,  translated  into  that  overtaxed,  down- 
trodden bondslave,  the  registered  and  betrousered  par- 
liamentary voter!" 

The  next  morning  the  Crackanthorpe  met  at  the 
Marl  Pits.  All  the  world  and  his  wife  were  there.  The 
lawless  mobs  which  are  the  curse  of  latter  day  fox- 


162  MRS.    FITZ 

hunting,  are  not  quite  so  rampant  in  our  country  as 
they  are  in  that  of  more  than  one  of  our  neighbours. 
Why  this  merciful  dispensation  has  been  granted  to  us 
no  man  can  explain.  It  may  be  that  we  have  not  a 
sufficient  care  for  the  "bubble  reputation."  But  as  our 
revered  Vicar  says,  our  immunity  is  one  further  proof  if 
such  were  needed,  that  the  Providence  which  watches 
over  the  lowliest  of  God's  creatures  is  essentially  be- 
neficent ;  certainly  a  very  becoming  frame  of  mind  for  a 
humble-minded  vicar  in  Christ  who  keeps  ten  horses  in 
his  stables  and  hunts  six  days  a  week. 

Brasset  in  a  velvet  cap  winding  the  horn  of  his 
fathers,  is  a  figure  for  respect.  Even  the  Nimrods  of 
the  old  school  who  feel  that  his  courtesy  and  his  care 
for  the  feelings  of  others  are  beneath  the  dignity  of  the 
chase,  accord  to  his  office  a  recognition  which  they 
would  be  the  last  to  grant  to  his  merely  human  qualities. 
This  morning  the  noble  Master  was  esquired  by  his 
distinguished  guest.  The  O'MuIligan  of  Castle  Mulli- 
gan, pride  of  The  Blazers,  possessor  of  the  straightest 
left  in  the  western  hemisphere,  was  immediately  pre- 
sented to  the  mistress  of  Dympsfield  House. 

That  lady,  mounted  so  expensively  that  her  weakling 
of  a  husband  was  deservedly  condemned  to  bestride  a 
quadruped  that  Joseph  Jocelyn  De  Vere  Vane-An- 
struther  publicly  stigmatised  as  "an  insult  to  the  'unt," 
was  instantly  prepossessed,  as  her  daughter  had  been, 
in  favour  of  the  amateur  middle  weight  champion.  Cer- 
tainly his  blandishments  were  many.  Grinning  from 
ear  to  ear,  revealing  two  regular  and  gleaming  rows 
of  white  teeth,  his  bearing  had  both  grace  and  cor- 


HORSE  AND  HOUND  163 

diality.  His  smile  in  itself  was  enough  to  take  the 
bone  out  of  the  ground,  and  he  had  all  the  charming 
volubility  of  his  nation.  As  for  his  aide-de-camp,  he 
too  deserves  mention.  Having  done  very  well  at 
"snooker"  the  previous  day,  my  relation  by  marriage 
was  looking  very  pleasant  and  happy  in  the  most  per- 
fectly fitting  coat  that  ever  embellished  the  human 
form.  He  was  mounted  on  Hamlet,  Prince  of  Denmark, 
the  piece  de  resistance  of  his  stable. 

We  were  accepting  the  hospitality  of  the  Reverend, 
an  agreeable  function  that  was  rendered  necessary  by 
the  fact  that  his  parsonage  is  within  a  mile  of  the  tryst, 
when  portentous  toot-toots  accompanied  by  prodigious 
gruntings  assailed  our  ears. 

"I  say,  Jo,"  said  Alexander  O'Mulligan  in  an  aside 
to  his  admiring  camp-follower,  "here  comes  ould  Fizza- 
magig." 

This  elegant  pseudonym  veiled  the  identity  of  the 
most  august  of  her  sex.  The  famous  fur  coat  and  the 
bell-shaped  topper  converged  upon  the  Rectory  gravel, 
at  the  instance  of  a  worn-out  dust  distributor  whose 
manifold  grunts  and  wheezes  all  too  clearly  proclaimed 
that  it  belonged  to  an  early  phase  of  the  industry. 

It  was  the  broad  light  of  day,  I  was  in  the  midst  of 
friends  and  brother  sportsmen,  but  once  again  the  chill 
of  apprehension  went  down  my  spine.  For  an  instant 
I  had  a  vision  of  pink  satin.  Mrs.  Catesby  accepted 
the  glass  of  brown  sherry  and  the  piece  of  cake  respect- 
fully proffered  by  the  Church.  But  while  she  discoursed 
of  parochial  commonplaces  in  that  penetrating  voice  of 
hers,  it  was  plain  that  her  august  head  was  occupied 


164  MRS.    FITZ 

with  affairs  of  state.  Her  grave  grey  eye  travelled  to 
the  middle  of  the  lawn  where  the  noble  Master  was 
sharing  a  ham  sandwich  with  Halcyon  and  Harmony ; 
thence  to  the  inadequately-mounted  Member  for  the 
Uppingdon  Division  of  Middleshire ;  thence  to  the  Mag- 
nificent Youth  and  the  heroic  O'Mulligan.  Finally  in 
contemplative  austerity  it  rested  upon  the  trim  outline 
of  the  lady  whose  habit  had  not  a  fault,  although  there 
is  reason  to  believe  that  in  the  eyes  of  one  it  erred  a 
little  on  the  side  of  fashion,  who  with  the  aid  of  Par- 
soness  and  Laura  Glendinning,  was  engaged  in  putting 
the  scheme  of  things  in  its  appointed  order. 

Once  again  I  was  undergoing  the  process  of  feeling 
profoundly  uncomfortable  when  we  were  regaled  with 
an  incident  so  pregnant  with  drama,  that  a  mere  pri- 
vate emotion  was  swept  away.  An  imperious  vision  in 
a  scarlet  coat,  mounted  on  a  noble  and  generous  horse, 
came  in  at  the  Parson's  gate.  She  was  accompanied  by 
the  son-in-law  of  Ferdinand  the  Twelfth. 

"What  ho,  the  military!"  murmured  Alexander 
O'Mulligan. 

To  the  sheer  amazement  of  all,  save  three  of  his  fol- 
lowers, the  Master  of  the  Crackanthorpe  was  the-  first 
to  greet  Mrs.  Fitz.  A  recent  incident  was  fresh  in  the 
minds  of  all.  It  was  pretty  well  understood  that  "the 
circus  rider  from  Vienna"  and  her  cavalier  entered  the 
Rectory  grounds  without  an  invitation,  for  the  Fitz- 
waren  stock  stood  lower  than  ever  in  the  market.  It 
was  expected  of  our  battered  and  traduced  chieftain 
that  at  least  he  should  withhold  official  recognition  from 
these  lawless  invaders.  He  was  expected  to  vindicate 


HORSE  AND  HOUND  165 

his  office  and  maintain  what  was  left  of  his  dignity  by 
looking  assiduously  in  another  direction.  But  he  did 
nothing  of  the  sort. 

In  the  most  heedless  and  tactless  manner  the  noble 
Master  proceeded  to  forfeit  the  sympathy,  the  esteem, 
and  the  confidence  of  those  who  had  hitherto  dispensed 
those  commodities  so  lavishly.  It  would  be  hard  to 
conceive  a  more  grievous  affront  to  the  feminine  fol- 
lowers of  the  Crackanthorpe  than  was  furnished  by  the 
Master's  personal  reception  of  the  lady  in  the  scarlet 
coat.  The  grave  yet  cordial  humility  of  his  bearing, 
admirably  Christian  in  the  light  of  too-recent  history, 
received  no  interpretation  in  the  terms  of  the  higher 
altruism. 

"He  will  have  to  resign,"  breathed  the  august  Mrs. 
Catesby  in  the  ear  of  the  outraged  Laura  Glendinning. 

It  was  a  relief  to  everybody  when  a  move  was  made 
to  the  top  cover.  Without  loss  of  time  the  question  of 
questions  was  put.  Was  the  famous  ticked  fox  at 
home?  Was  that  almost  mythical  customer,  whose 
legend  was  revered  in  three  countries,  in  his  favourite 
earth? 

In  a  half  circle,  each  thinking  his  thoughts,  and  with 
a  furtive  eye  for  his  neighbour,  we  waited. 

A  succession  of  silvery  notes  from  the  pack  at  last 
proclaimed  the  answer  to  the  question.  As  usual  the 
father  of  cunning  had  set  his  mask  for  Langley 
Dumbles.  One  of  the  stiffest  bits  of  country  in  the 
Shires  lay  stretched  out  ahead.  Two  distinct  and  well- 
defined  courses  were  immediately  presented  to  the  field. 
The  one  was  pregnant  with  grief  yet  fragrant  with 


166  MRS.    FITZ 

glory.  The  other,  if  not  the  path  of  honour,  was  cer- 
tainly more  appropriate  to  the  married  man,  the 
father  of  the  family  and  the  county  member,  particu- 
larly if  the  wife  of  the  member  has  a  weakness  for  three 
hundred  guinea  hunters.  There  was  also  a  middle 
course  for  those  who  while  retaining  some  semblance  of 
ambition  have  learned  to  temper  it  with  prudence,  ob- 
servation and  sagacity.  It  was  to  the  middle  course 
that  nature  had  condemned  old  Dobbin  Grey  and  his 
rider. 

Not  for  us  the  intemperate  delights  of  the  thruster. 
Crash  through  a  bullfinch  went  Alexander  O'Mulligan, 
the  pride  of  The  Blazers.  Almost  in  his  pocket  fol- 
lowed the  lady  in  the  scarlet  coat.  Almost  in  hers  fol- 
lowed Mrs.  Arbuthnot.  Laura  Glendinning  and  little 
Mrs.  Josiah  P.  Perkins  were  obviously  hardening  their 
hearts  for  prodigious  deeds  of  gallantry.  It  was 
already  clear  as  the  sun  at  noon  that  if  our  old  and 
sportsmanlike  friend,  whose  jacket  had  the  curious  tick- 
ing, only  kept  to  the  line  it  generally  pleased  him  to 
follow,  some  very  jealous  riding  was  about  to  be  wit- 
nessed among  the  feminine  followers  of  the  Crackan- 
thorpe  Hounds. 

"My  God,  they  call  this  'untin' !"  said  Joseph  Jocelyn 
De  Vere  Vane-Anstruther,  who,  to  his  disgust,  had 
allowed  himself,  in  the  preliminary  scuffle  for  places,  to 
be  nonplussed  by  the  unparalleled  ardour  of  these 
Amazons. 

One  thing  was  obvious.  Old  Dobbin  Grey  and  his 
rider  were  a  little  too  near  the  centre  of  the  picture. 
Let  us  blush  to  relate  it,  but  at  the  obsequious  prompt- 


HORSE  AND  HOUND  167 

ings  of  memory  we  moved  down  the  hedgerow  of  that 
wide  and  heavy  pasture,  yea,  even  unto  its  uttermost 
left  hand  corner  where  a  gate  was  known  to  lurk.  But 
alas!  Nemesis  lurked  also  in  that  corner  of  the  land- 
scape. For  we  were  doomed  to  discover  that  the 
eternal  standby  of  the  lover  of  the  middle  course,  nay, 
the  indubitable  emblem  of  it,  the  goodly  handgate,  had 
been  removed  of  malice  prepense,  and  in  lieu  thereof 
was  a  stiff  and  upstanding  post  and  rails,  freshly 
planted  and  painted  newly! 

It  was  a  great  shock  to  the  old  horse.  It  was  also  a 
crisis  in  the  life  of  his  rider.  The  rails  looked  terribly 
high  and  stout ;  we  had  lost  so  much  time  already  that 
every  second  was  priceless  if  we  were  to  see  hounds 
again.  It  was  hard  on  the  old  horse,  yet  it  really 
seemed  that  there  was  only  one  thing  to  be  done.  How- 
ever, before  resolve  could  be  translated  into  action, 
other  lovers  of  the  middle  course  bore  down  upon  us; 
no  less  a  pair  than  Mrs.  Catesby  mounted  upon  Marian. 

"It  was  my  intention  not  to  speak  to  you  again,  Odo 
Arbuthnot,"  said  the  august  rider  of  Marian,  "but  if 
you  will  give  us  a  lead  over  that  post  and  rails  we  will 
follow." 

"Place  aux  dames"  said  I  with  ingrained  gallantry. 
"Besides  you  are  quite  as  competent  to  break  that  top 
rail  as  we  are." 

"Out-hunting,"  said  the  high-minded  votary  of 
Diana,  "you  must  behave  like  a  gentleman,  even  if  at 
the  Savoy " 

With  due  encouragement  the  old  horse  really  did  very 
well  indeed,  hitting  the  top  rail  fore  and  aft  it  is  true, 


168  MRS.    FITZ 

describing  in  his  descent  a  geometrical  figure  not  unlike 
a  parabola,  but  landing  on  his  legs  and  gathering  him- 
self up  quite  respectably  in  the  adjoining  fifty  acres  of 
ridge  and  furrow.  With  a  little  pardonable  condescen- 
sion, I  turned  round  to  look  how  Marian  would  behave 
with  her  resolute-minded  mistress.  It  is  no  disparage- 
ment to  the  Dobbin  to  say  that  Mrs.  Catesby's  chestnut 
is  a  cleverer  beast  than  he  ever  was,  also  she  has  youth 
on  her  side,  and  she  is  taller  by  a  hand.  She  grazed 
the  rail  with  her  hind  legs,  but  her  performance  was 
quite  good  enough  to  be  going  on  with. 

Mrs.  Catesby  can  ride  as  straight  as  anybody,  but 
now  she  is  "A  Mother  of  Seven"  who  writes  to  The 
Times  upon  the  subject  of  educational  reform,  and 
she  has  taken  to  sitting  upon  committees — in  more 
senses  than  one — she  feels  that  she  owes  it  to  the 
mothers  of  the  nation  that  she  should  set  them  an 
example  in  the  matter  of  paying  due  respect  to  their 
vertebrae.  The  negotiation  of  the  post  and  rails  had 
put  us  on  excellent  terms  with  ourselves,  if  not  with 
each  other,  and  side  by  side  we  made  short  work  of  the 
fifty  acres  of  ridge  and  furrow;  popped  through  a 
sequence  of  handgates  and  along  a  succession  of  lanes ; 
and  made  such  a  liberal  use  of  the  craft  that  we  had 
painfully  acquired  in  the  course  of  more  seasons  than 
we  cared  to  remember,  that  in  the  end  it  was  only  by 
the  mercy  of  Allah  that  we  did  not  head  the  fox ! 

The  fortune  of  war  had  placed  us  in  the  first  flight, 
but  the  celebrated  customer  was  still  going  so  strong 
that  we  should  have  to  show  cause  if  we  were  going 
to  remain  there. 


HORSE  AND  HOUND  169 

The  noble  Master  was  looking  very  anxious.  Well 
he  might,  for  between  him  and  his  hounds  was  the  lady 
in  the  scarlet  coat.  Mounted  upon  the  most  mag- 
nificent-looking bay  horse  I  have  ever  seen  she  seemed 
fully  prepared  to  hunt  the  pack.  And  I  grieve  to  relate 
that  following  hard  upon  her  line,  and  as  close  as  equine 
flesh  and  blood  could  contrive  it,  was  Mrs.  Arbuthnot 
on  her  three  hundred  guinea  hunter. 

"Look  at  Mops,"  quoth  a  disgusted  voice.  "Clean 
off  her  rocker.  Hope  to  God  there  won't  be  a  check, 
that's  all!" 

Jodey  soared  by  us,  taking  a  fence  in  his  stride. 

On  the  contrary,  old  Dobbin  Grey  was  beginning 
devoutly  to  hope  that  a  check  there  would  be.  But  as 
game  as  a  pebble,  the  old  warrior  struggled  on.  It 
would  never  do  for  him  to  be  cut  out  by  Marian,  and 
in  that  opinion  his  rider  concurred.  Luckily  we  found 
an  easy  place  in  the  fence,  but  all  too  soon  a  more 
formidable  obstacle  presented  itself.  It  was  Langley 
Brook.  Very  bold  jumping  would  be  called  for  to  save 
a  wet  jacket;  and  it  is  an  open  secret  that  even  in  his 
prime,  the  Dobbin  has  always  held  that  the  only  pos- 
sible place  for  water  is  in  a  stable  bucket. 

We  decided  to  go  round  by  the  bridge.  A  perfectly 
legitimate  resolution,  I  am  free  to  maintain,  for  ardent 
followers  of  the  middle  course.  Having  arrived  at  this 
statesmanlike  decision  there  was  time  to  look  ahead. 
It  was  not  without  trepidation  that  we  did  so.  In  front 
was  a  welter  of  ambitious  first  flighters.  Yet,  as  always, 
the  one  to  catch  the  eye  was  the  lady  in  the  scarlet 
coat.  Utterly  heedless,  she  went  at  the  Brook  at  its 


170  MRS.    FITZ 

widest,  the  noble  bay  rose  like  a  Centaur  and  landed 
in  safety.  Sticking  ever  to  her,  closer  than  a  sister, 
was  Mrs.  Arbuthnot.  I  shuddered  and  had  a  vision  of 
a  broken  back  for  the  three  hundred  guinea  hunter,  and 
a  ducking  for  its  rider.  Happily,  if  you  are  a  mem- 
ber of  the  clan  Vane-Anstruther,  the  more  critical  the 
moment  the  cooler  you  are  apt  to  be ;  also  you  are  born 
with  the  priceless  faculty  of  sitting  still  and  keeping 
down  your  hands.  The  three  hundred  guinea  hunter 
floundered  on  to  the  opposite  bank,  threatened  to  fall 
back  into  the  stream,  by  a  Herculean  effort  recovered 
itself  and  emerged  on  terra  firma. 

It  was  with  a  heart  devout  with  gratitude  that  I 
turned  to  the  bridge.  To  my  surprise,  for  as  all  my 
attention  had  been  for  the  Brook  I  had  had  none  to 
spare  for  the  field  as  a  whole,  I  found  myself  cheek  by 
jowl  with  Jodey.  In  the  hunting  field  I  know  no  young 
man  whom  nature  has  endowed  so  happily.  His  air  of 
world-weariness  is  a  cloak  for  a  justness  of  perception, 
which  apparently  without  the  expenditure  of  the  least 
exertion  generally  lands  him  there  or  thereabouts  at 
the  finish. 

"The  silly  blighters! — don't  they  see  they  have  lost 
their  fox?" 

This  piece  of  criticism  was  hurled  not  merely  at  the 
Amazons,  who  had  already  negotiated  the  water,  but 
also  at  the  noble  Master  and  his  attendant  satellites 
who  were  in  the  act  of  following  their  example. 

"Reggie  is  quite  right  for  once,"  said  a  voice  from 
the  near  side,  severe  and  magisterial  in  quality.  "It 
is  his  duty  to  prevent,  if  he  can,  his  hounds  being  over- 


HORSE  AND  HOUND  171 

ridden  by  those  unspeakable  women.  If  Irene  belonged 
to  me  I  should  send  her  straight  home  to  bed." 

"Ought  to  be  smacked,"  said  the  sportsman  on  the 
off  side,  cordially.  "Anybody'd  think  she'd  had  no  up- 
bringin' !" 

Feeling  in  a  sense  responsible  for  the  misbehaviour 
of  my  lawful  property,  I  "lay  low  and  said  nuffin."  In- 
deed, there  was  precious  little  to  be  said  in  defence  of 
such  conduct  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  field. 

On  the  strength  of  Jodey's  pronouncement  we  crossed 
the  bridge  at  our  leisure.  As  usual  his  wisdom  hastened 
to  justify  itself.  Reynard  was  tucked  snugly  under  a 
haystack,  doubtless  with  his  pad  to  his  nose.  He  was 
upon  sacred  earth,  where,  after  a  tremendous  turnup 
with  Peter,  the  Crackanthorpe  terrier,  the  Crackan- 
thorpe  hounds,  and  the  Crackanthorpe  huntsman  re- 
luctantly left  him. 

A  halt  was  called;  flasks  and  sandwiches  were  pro- 
duced; and  the  honourable  company  of  the  less  enter- 
prising, or  the  less  fortunate,  began  to  assemble  in 
force  without  the  precincts  of  the  Manor  Farm  stack- 
yard. Conversation  grew  rife;  and  at  least  one  frag- 
ment that  penetrated  to  my  ears  was  pungent. 

"Look  here,  Mops,"  was  its  context,  "when  do  you 
suppose  you  are  goin'  to  give  over  playing  the  goat?" 

The  rider  of  the  three  hundred  guinea  hunter  was 
splashed  with  mud  up  to  her  green  collar,  her  hair  was 
coming  down,  her  hat  was  anyhow,  her  cheeks  were 
flame  colour,  and  the  sides  of  Malvolio  were  sobbing. 

"Mon  enfant"  I  ventured  sadly  to  observe,  "it  may 


172  MRS.    FITZ 

be  magnificent,  but  it  is  not  the  art  of  chasing  the  fox, 
even  as  it  is  practised  in  the  flying  countries." 

The  light  of  battle  flamed  in  the  eyes  of  the  star  of 
my  destiny. 

"What  nonsense  you  talk,  Odo!  Do  you  think  that 
the  circus  woman ' 

"Sssh!    She  will  hear  you." 

"Hope  she  will !" 

"Fact  is,  Mops,"  said  her  admonisher  in  chief,  "as 
I've  always  said  you  are  only  fit  for  a  provincial  pack." 

Having  thus  delivered  himself  Mrs.  Arbuthnot's 
brother  washed  his  hands  of  this  "hard  case"  in  the 
completest  and  most  effectual  manner.  He  turned 
about  and  bestowed  his  best  bow  upon  the  circus  rider 
from  Vienna.  The  act  was  certainly  irrational.  The 
behaviour  of  the  lady  in  the  scarlet  coat  was  quite  as 
much  exposed  to  censure.  To  be  sure  her  nationality 
was  to  be  urged  in  her  defence,  but  then,  as  the  sorely 
tried  Master  confided  to  me  in  a  pathetic  aside,  "she 
had  been  out  quite  often  enough  to  learn  the  rules  of 
the  game." 

"You  can't  expect  Crown  Princesses,  my  dear  fellow, 
to  trouble  about  rules,"  said  I.  "They  make  their 
own." 

"Then  I  wish  they  would  hunt  hounds  of  their  own 
and  leave  mine  to  me,"  said  the  long-suffering  one 
tragically.  "It  turns  me  dizzy  every  time  I  see  her 
among  'em.  If  Fitz  had  any  sense  of  decency  he  would 
look  after  her." 

"Fitz  is  the  slave  of  circumstance.  Brasset,  if  you 
are  a  wise  fellow  and  you  are  not  above  taking  the 


HORSE  AND  HOUND  173 

advice  of  a  friend,  you  will  never  marry  the  next  in 
succession  to  an  old  established  and  despotic  mon- 
archy." 

"My  God — no!"  The  voice  of  the  noble  Master 
vibrated  with  profound  emotion. 

In  honour  of  this  resolution  we  exchanged  flasks. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
<A  GLARE  IN  THE  SKY 

THE  Society  for  the  Maintenance  of  the  Public 
Decency  has  a  record  of  long  and  distinguished  use- 
fulness, but  never  in  its  annals  has  it  been  moved  to  a 
more  determined  activity  than  during  the  week  which 
followed  this  ill-starred  run.  The  Ruling  Dames  or 
Past  Grand  Mistresses — I  don't  quite  know  what  their 
true  official  title  is — of  this  august  body  met  and  con- 
ferred and  drank  tea  continually.  Those  who  were  con- 
versant with  the  Society's  methods  made  dire  prophecy 
of  a  public  action  of  an  unparalleled  rigour.  But 
beyond  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Arbuthnot's  china-blue  eyes 
had  an  inscrutable  glint,  and  that  Mrs.  Catesby's 
Minerva-like  front  was  as  lofty  and  menacing  as  became 
the  daughter  of  Jove,  nothing  happened  during  this 
critical  period  which  really  aspires  to  the  dignity  of 
history. 

Three  times  within  that  fateful  space  the  noble  Mas- 
ter led  forth  his  hounds ;  three  times  was  it  whispered 
confidently  in  my  ear  by  my  little  friend  Mrs.  Josiah 
P.  Perkins,  with  a  piquant  suggestion  in  her  accent  of 
her  old  Kentucky  home,  which  sometimes  overtakes  her 
very  charmingly  in  moments  of  acute  emotion,  "that 
if  the  tenderfoot  from  the  rotunda  hit  the  trail,  Redge 

174 


A  GLARE  IN  THE  SKY  175 

would  take  the  fox-dogs  home;"*  three  times  did  the 
lady  in  the  scarlet  coat  do  her  best  to  override 
the  fox-dogs  in  question;  three  times,  as  the  veracious 
historian  is  fain  to  confess,  nothing  happened 
whatever.  It  is  true  that  more  than  once  the  noble 
Master  looked  at  the  offender  "as  no  gentleman  ought 
to  look  at  a  lady."  More  than  once  he  cursed  her  by 
all  his  gods,  but  never  within  her  hearing.  Rumour  had 
it  that  he  also  told  Fitz  that  if  he  didn't  look  after  his 
wife  he  should  give  the  order  for  the  kennels.  Unfor- 
tunately, Miss  Laura  Glendinning  was  the  sole  au- 
thority for  this  melodramatic  statement. 

However,  on  the  evening  of  the  seventh  day  the  stars 
in  their  courses  said  their  word  in  the  matter.  Doubt- 
less the  behaviour  of  the  astral  bodies  was  the  outcome 
of  a  formally  expressed  wish  of  the  Society ;  at  least  it 
is  well  known  that  certain  of  its  members  carry  weight 
in  heaven.  Whether  Mrs.  Catesby  and  the  Vicar's  wife 
headed  a  deputation  to  Jupiter  I  am  not  in  a  position 
to  affirm.  Be  that  as  it  may,  on  the  evening  of  the 
seventh  day  fate  issued  a  decree  against  "the  circus 
rider  from  Vienna"  and  all  her  household. 

Let  this  fell  occurrence  be  recorded  with  detail. 
Myself  and  co-partner  in  life's  felicities  had  had  a 
tolerable  if  somewhat  fatiguing  day  with  the  Crackan- 
thorpe  Hounds.  We  had  assisted  at  the  destruction 
of  a  couple  of  fur-coated  members  of  society  who  had 
done  us  no  harm  whatever ;  and  having  exchanged  the 

*In  the  opinion  of  Mrs.  Josiah  P.  Perkins  this  passage  fully 
guarantees  the  author's  total  ignorance  of  a  very  great  propo- 
sition. 


176  MRS.    FITZ 

soaked,  muddy,  and  generally  uncomfortable  habili- 
ments of  the  chase  for  the  garb  of  peace,  had  fared 
tete-a-tete — Joseph  Jocelyn  De  Vere  Vane-Anstruther 
regaling  his  friends  at  the  Hall  with  the  light  of  his 
countenance  and  his  post-prandial  skill  at  snooker — 
with  sumptuous  decency  upon  baked  meats  and  the  good 
red  wine. 

We  were  in  the  most  harmonious  stage  of  all  that 
this  chequered  existence  has  to  offer;  taking  our  ease 
in  our  inn  while  our  nether  limbs,  whose  stiffness  was 
a  not  unpleasing  reminiscence  of  the  strenuous  day  we 
had  spent  in  the  saddle,  toasted  luxuriously  before  a 
good  sea-coal  fire ;  smoking  the  pipe  of  peace  together, 
although  this  is  by  way  of  being  a  figure  of  speech, 
since  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  affected  a  mild  Turkish  cigarette ; 
comparing  notes  of  our  joint  adventures  by  flood  and 
field,  with  the  natural  and  inevitable  De  Vere  Vane-An- 
struther note  of  condescension  quite  agreeably  miti- 
gated by  one  tiny  liqueur  glass  of  the  1820  brandy — a 
magic  potion  which  ere  now  has  caused  the  Magnificent 
Youth  himself  to  abate  a  few  feathers  of  his  plumage. 
We  were  conducting  an  exhaustive  inquiry  into  the 
respective  merits  of  Pixie  and  Daydream,  and  I  had 
been  led  with  a  charm  that  was  irresistible  into  a  con- 
currence with  the  sharer  of  my  bliss  that  both  were 
worth  every  penny  of  the  price  that  had  been  paid  for 
them,  although  I  had  not  so  much  as  thrown  a  leg 
over  either  of  these  quadrupeds  of  most  distinguished 
ancestry. 

"It  is  rather  a  lot  to  pay,  but  you  can't  call  them 
dear,  can  you,  because  they  do  fetch  such  prices  now- 


A  GLARE  IN  THE  SKY  177 

adays,  don't  they?  And  Laura  is  perfectly  green  with 
envy." 

"I'm  glad  of  that,"  said  I  with  undefeated  optimism. 
"If  her  greenness  approximates  to  the  right  shade  it 
will  match  the  Hunt  collar.  How  green  is  she  ?" 

"Funny  old  thing !"  Mrs.  Arbuthnot's  beam  was  of 
childlike  benignity.  "She  is  not  such  a  bad  sort,  really. 
Besides,  plain  people  are  always  the  nicest,  aren't  they, 
poor  dears?  Yes,  Parkins,  what  is  it?" 

Parkins  the  peerless  had  entered  the  drawing-room 
after  a  discreet  preliminary  knock  for  which  the  cir- 
cumstances really  made  no  demand  whatever.  He  had 
sidled  up  to  his  mistress,  and  in  his  mien  natural  reserve 
and  a  desire  to  dispense  information  were  finely  mingled. 

"Beg  pardon,  ma'am,  but  have  you  seen  the  glare  in 
the  sky?" 

"What  sort  of  a  glare,  Parkins?"  A  lazy  voice 
emerged  from  the  seventh  heaven  of  the  hedonist.  "Do 
you  mean  it's  a  what-do-y ou-call-it  ?  A  planet  I  sup- 
pose you  mean,  Parkins?" 

"It  can  hardly  be  a  comet,  ma'am,"  said  Parkins  with 
his  most  encyclopaedic  air.  "It  is  so  bright  and  so 
fixed,  and  it  seems  to  be  getting  larger." 

"So  long  as  it  isn't  the  end  of  the  world,"  said  Mrs. 
Arbuthnot,  fondling  her  gold  cigarette-case  with  a  little 
sigh. 

"It  looks  to  me  like  the  Castle,  ma'am.  It  is  over 
in  that  direction.  I  remember  when  the  west  wing  was 
burnt  twelve  years  ago." 

"You  think  the  Castle  is  on  fire?"  said  I. 

I  also  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  the  hedonist.    But 


178  MRS.    FITZ 

gathering  my  faculties  as  resolutely  as  I  could,  I  rose 
from  the  good  sea-coal  fire  and  assisted  Parkins  to  pull 
aside  the  curtains. 

"By  Jove,  you're  right.  There  is  a  blaze  somewhere. 
But  isn't  it  rather  near  for  the  Castle?" 

"It  might  be  the  Grange,"  said  Parkins. 

I  was  fain  to  agree  that  the  Grange  it  might  be. 
Somehow  that  seemed  a  place  excellently  laid  for  dis- 
aster. The  announcement  that  the  Grange  was  on  fire 
brought  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  to  the  window.  Born  under 
Mars,  the  star  of  my  destiny  is  nothing  if  not  a  woman 
of  action.  In  spite  of  her  present  rather  lymphatic 
state  she  ordered  the  car  around  immediately.  Within 
five  minutes  we  were  braving  a  dark  and  stormy  Decem- 
ber night. 

The  beacon  growing  ever  brighter  as  we  went,  it  did 
not  take  long  to  convince  us  that  the  Grange  would  be 
our  destination.  It  is  to  be  feared  that  we  broke  the 
law,  for  in  something  considerably  under  half-an-hour 
we  had  come  to  the  home  of  the  Fitzwarens. 

A  heartrending  scene  it  was.  The  beautiful  but 
always  rather  desolate  old  house,  which  dates  from  John 
o'  Gaunt,  seemed  already  doomed.  A  portion  of  it 
was  even  now  in  ruins  and  on  all  sides  the  flames  were 
leaping  up  fiercely  to  the  sky.  Engines  had  not  yet 
had  time  to  come  from  Middleham,  and  the  progress  of 
the  fire  was  appalling. 

A  number  of  servants  and  villagers  had  devoted  them- 
selves to  the  task  of  retrieving  the  furniture.  On  a 
lawn  at  some  distance  from  the  house  an  incongruous 
collection  of  articles  had  been  laid  out:  a  picture  by 


A  GLARE  IN  THE  SKY  179 

Rubens  side  by  side  with  a  trouser-press ;  a  piece  of 
Sevres  cheek  by  jowl  with  a  kitchen  saucepan.'  Stand- 
ing in  their  midst  in  the  charge  of  a  nurse  was  the  small 
elf  of  four.  Her  eyes  were  sparkling  and  she  was  danc- 
ing and  clapping  her  hands  in  delight  at  the  spectacle. 
The  nurse  was  in  tears. 

Mrs.  Arbuthnot  had  not  seen  the  creature  before. 
But  her  instincts  are  swift  and  they  are  sure. 

"Come  with  me,"  she  said  to  the  nurse.  "Saunders 
will  take  you  in  the  car  to  Dympsfield  House.  They 
will  make  up  a  bed  for  you  in  the  day  nursery  and  see 
that  you  get  some  warm  food." 

Hardly  had  the  little  girl  suffered  herself  to  be  led 
away  by  the  prospect  of  a  new  adventure  before  two 
men  came  towards  the  spot  where  I  stood.  They  were 
grimy  and  dishevelled,  and  the  upper  part  of  their 
persons  seemed  to  be  enveloped  in  folds  of  wet  blanket. 
They  were  staggering  under  a  very  large  and  unwieldy 
burden  which  was  swathed  in  a  material  similar  to  that 
which  they  wore  themselves. 

With  much  care  this  object  was  deposited  upon  a 
Sheraton  table,  and  then  I  found  myself  greeted  by 
a  familiar  voice. 

"Hullo,  Arbuthnot!  Didn't  expect  to  see  you  here. 
Very  good  of  you  to  come." 

It  was  the  voice  of  Fitz  speaking  with  the  almost 
uncanny  insouciance  of  the  wonderful  night  at  Portland 
Place.  He  cast  off  the  curious  wrappings  which  encum- 
bered his  head,  and  said  to  his  companion,  who  was  in 
similar  guise,  "I'm  afraid  it  has  us  beat.  The  sooner 
we  get  out  of  this  kit  the  better." 


180  MRS.    FITZ 

There  came  an  incoherent  growl  out  of  the  folds  of 
wet  blanket. 

"Why,  Coverdale!"  I  said  in  astonishment. 

"I  think  we  ought  to  make  a  sporting  dash  for  that 
Holbein,"  said  the  growl,  becoming  coherent.  "That  is, 
if  you  are  quite  sure  it  isn't  a  forgery." 

"Personally  I  think  it  is,"  said  Fitz,  in  his  voice  of 
unnatural  calm.  "But  my  father  always  believed  it  to 
be  genuine." 

"Better  take  the  word  of  your  father.  Let  us  get 
at  it." 

It  was  the  work  of  a  moment  to  strip  the  wrappings 
of  the  retrieved  masterpiece  upon  the  Sheraton  table. 

"Can  I  help?"  said  I. 

"If  you  want  to  be  of  use,"  said  Fitz,  "go  and  give 
the  Missus  a  hand  with  the  horses." 

Leaving  Fitz  and  Coverdale  to  make  yet  another 
entry  into  what  seemed  hardly  less  than  a  furnace  of 
living  fire,  I  made  my  way  round  to  the  stables.  To 
approach  them  one  had  to  be  careful.  The  heat  was 
intense ;  sparks  and  burning  fragments  were  being  flung 
a  considerable  distance  by  the  gusts  of  wind,  and  ma- 
sonry was  crashing  continually.  The  out-buildings  had 
not  yet  caught,  but  with  the  wind  in  its  present  quarter 
it  would  only  be  the  work  of  a  few  moments  before  they 
did  so. 

My  recollection  is  of  plunging,  rearing  and  fright- 
ened animals,  and  of  a  commanding,  all-pervading  pres- 
ence in  their  midst.  Amid  the  throng  of  stable-hands, 
villagers,  firemen  and  policemen  who  had  now  come  upon 
the  scene,  it  rose  supreme,  directing  their  energies  and 


A  GLARE  IN  THE  SKY  181 

sustaining  them  with  that  imperious  magnetism  which 
she  possessed  beyond  any  creature  I  have  ever  seen.  I 
heard  it  said  afterwards  that  she  alone  had  the  power 
to  induce  the  twelve  horses  to  quit  their  loose  boxes ; 
that  one  by  one  she  led  them  out,  soothing  and  caress- 
ing them ;  and  that  so  long  as  she  was  with  them  they 
shewed  comparatively  little  fear  of  the  roaring  furnace 
that  was  so  near  to  them,  but  that  no  sooner  were  they 
handed  over  to  others  than  they  became  unmanageable. 

Certainly  it  was  due  to  a  consummate  exhibition  of 
her  power  that  the  horses  were  got  out  of  their  stalls 
without  harm  to  themselves  or  to  others.  They  were 
confided  to  the  care  of  the  friendly  farmers  of  the 
neighbourhood,  who,  assembled  in  force,  were  working 
heroically  to  combat  the  flames.  All  night  long  the 
work  of  salvage  went  on,  but  in  spite  of  all  that  could 
be  done,  even  with  the  aid  of  numerous  fire-engines  from 
Middleham,  nothing  could  save  the  old  house.  It  burnt 
like  tinder.  By  three  o'clock  that  December  morning 
it  was  a  smouldering  ruin. 

At  intervals  during  the  night  some  of  the  Grange 
servants  had  been  dispatched  to  Dympsfield  House, 
with  as  many  of  the  personal  belongings  of  their  master 
and  mistress  as  they  could  collect.  Our  establishment 
is  a  modest  one,  but  not  for  a  moment  did  it  occur  to 
Mrs.  Arbuthnot  that  it  would  be  unable  to  offer  sanc- 
tuary to  those  who  needed  it  so  sorely. 

The  fire  had  run  its  course  and  all  were  resigned  to 
the  inevitable  when  Mrs.  Arbuthnot,  without  deigning 
to  consult  the  nominal  head  of  our  household,  made  the 
offer  of  our  hospitality  to  Fitz  and  his  wife.  At  her 


182  MRS.    FITZ 

own  request  she  had  previously  foregone  an  introduc- 
tion to  "the  circus  rider  from  Vienna";  and  now  in 
these  tragic  December  small  hours  she  deemed  such  a 
formality  to  be  unnecessary.  Verily  misfortune  makes 
strange  bedfellows ! 

If  I  must  tell  the  truth,  it  surprised  me  to  learn  that 
the  Fitzwarens  had  been  prevailed  upon  to  accept  the 
hospitality  of  Dympsfield  House.  True,  they  were 
homeless ;  but,  looking  at  the  case  impartially,  it  seemed 
to  me  that  they  had  not  been  very  generously  treated  by 
their  neighbours.  The  foibles  of  "the  circus  rider  from 
Vienna"  had  aroused  a  measure  of  covert  hostility  to 
which  the  most  obtuse  people  could  not  have  been  insen- 
sible. Had  the  average  ordinary  married  couple  been 
in  the  case  of  Fitz  and  his  wife,  I  do  not  think  they 
would  have  yielded  to  Mrs.  Arbuthnot's  generosity. 

The  Fitzwarens,  however,  were  far  from  being  ordi- 
nary average  people.  Therefore,  by  a  quarter  to  five 
that  morning  they  had  crossed  our  threshold;  and  as 
some  recompense  for  the  privations  of  that  tragic 
night  they  were  promptly  regaled  with  a  scratch  meal 
of  coffee  and  sandwiches. 

One  other  individual,  at  his  own  suggestion,  accom- 
panied our  guests  to  Dympsfield  House.  He  was  of 
a  sinister  omen,  being  no  less  a  person  than  the  Chief 
Constable  of  our  county.  His  presence  at  the  fire  had 
been  a  matter  for  surprise.  And  when,  as  we  were 
about  to  quit  the  unhappy  scene,  he  came  to  me  pri- 
vately and  said  that  if  we  could  squeeze  a  corner  for 
him  in  the  car  he  should  be  glad  to  come  with  us,  that 
surprise  was  not  made  less. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

MRS.  ARBUTHNOT  BEGINS  TO  TAKE  NOTICE 

IT  WAS  a  little  before  six  when  the  ladies  retired  in 
the  quest  of  their  lost  repose.  No  sooner  had  they  left 
us  than  we  lit  our  pipes  and  drew  our  chairs  up  to  the 
fire.  In  patience  I  awaited  the  riddle  of  the  Chief  Con- 
stable's presence  being  read  to  me. 

"Arbuthnot," — the  great  man  sucked  at  his  pipe 
pensively — "there  are  several  things  that  Fitzwaren  and 
I  are  agreed  that  you  ought  to  know." 

Fitz  nodded  his  head  in  curt  but  rather  sinister 
approval. 

"Yes,  tell  him,"  he  said. 

"Before  Fitzwaren  accepted  your  hospitality,"  said 
the  great  man,  "he  asked  my  advice." 

"Oh,  really?"  said  I. 

"And  I  think  it  only  right  to  mention" — the  air  of 
the  great  man  reminded  me  of  my  old  tutor  expounding 
a  proposition  in  Euclid — "that  it  is  upon  my  advice  he 
has  accepted  it." 

"I  ought  to  feel  honoured." 

"Well,  yes,  perhaps  you  ought."  The  Chief  Con- 
stable removed  his  pipe  from  his  lips  and  tapped  it  upon 
an  extremely  dirty  boot.  "But  whether  you  will  feel 

183 


184  MRS.    FITZ 

honoured  when  you  have  heard  all  we  have  to  say  to 
you  I  am  not  so  sure." 

"Nor  I,"  said  Fitz. 

"You  see,  Arbuthnot,  we  have  a  rather  delicate  prob-. 
lem  to  deal  with.  It  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  the 
personal  safety  of  the  Princess." 

"I  hope,"  said  I,  "her  Royal  Highness  will  be  at  least 
as  safe  here  as  she  would  be  anywhere  else." 

"That  is  the  crux  of  the  whole  matter.  Fitzwaren 
and  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that,  for  the  time 
being,  the  Princess  will  actually  be  safer  in  this  house 
than  she  would  be  in  any  other." 

"Really!" 

"Our  local  police,  acting  in  conjunction  with  Scot- 
land Yard,  hope  to  be  able  to  ensure  her  safety,  that 
is  if  she  and  her  friends  take  reasonable  care." 

"You  may  depend  upon  it,  Coverdale,  that  as  far  as 
my  wife  and  I  are  concerned  we  shall  do  nothing  to 
jeopardise  it." 

"That  is  taken  for  granted.  But  her  present  posi- 
tion is  much  more  critical  that  perhaps  you  are  aware." 

"I  know,  of  course,  that  Ferdinand  the  Twelfth  is 
determined  to  have  her  back  in  Illyria." 

"Yes,  and  further  than  that,  the  Republican  Party 
is  equally  determined  that  she  never  shall  go  back  to 
Illyria.  The  events  of  last  night  have  furnished  another 
proof  of  their  sentiments." 

"I  don't  understand." 

"There  is  reason  to  believe  that  the  destruction  of 
the  Grange  is  the  work  of  an  incendiary.  That  is  to 
say,  a  bomb  was  thrown  through  one  of  the  windows, 


MRS.  ARBUTHNOT  TAKES  NOTICE     185 

as  was  the  case  at  Blaenau  recently.  There  can  be  no 
question  that  the  object  of  the  crime  was  to  kill  the 
Princess,  as  it  was  to  kill  the  King,  but  in  each  case 
the  business  was  bungled.  In  this  instance,  rather 
miraculously,  not  a  soul  was  hurt,  although  the  house, 
as  you  know,  has  been  entirely  destroyed.  A  bomb  was 
thrown  into  the  dining-room,  but  as  dinner  happened  to 
be  half-an-hour  later  than  usual,  nobody  was  there." 

This  grisly  narrative  gave  me  a  sharp  shock,  I  con- 
fess. And  I  must  have  betrayed  my  state  of  mind,  for 
the  Chief  Constable  favoured  me  with  a  smile  of  reas- 
surance. 

"Put  your  trust  in  the  Middleshire  police,"  said  he, 
"with  a  little  assistance  from  the  Yard.  They  won't 
play  that  game  twice  with  us,  you  can  depend  upon  it. 
If  the  Yard  had  not  been  rather  late  with  their  informa- 
tion they  would  never  have  played  it  at  all.  Our  people 
were  actually  on  the  way  to  the  Grange  when  the  out- 
rage was  committed." 

For  all  the  air  of  professional  reassurance,  the  mar- 
ried man,  the  head  of  the  family  and  the  county  member 
was  thoroughly  alarmed. 

"It  is  all  very  well,  Coverdale,  but  what  guarantee 
is  there  that  even  at  this  moment  they  are  not  dropping 
bombs  into  our  bedrooms?" 

"Four  men  in  plain  clothes  are  patrolling  your  park, 
and  will  continue  to  do  so  as  long  as  the  Princess  re- 
mains under  your  roof." 

It  would  have  been  ungrateful  not  to  express  relief 
for  this  official  vigilance.  But  that  it  was  felt  in  any 
substantial  measure  is  more  than  I  can  affirm. 


186  MRS.    FITZ 

"Of  course,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Fitz,  "now  that 
you  are  in  possession  of  all  the  facts  of  the  case,  you 
have  a  perfect  right  to  withdraw  the  offer  of  your 
hospitality.  Coverdale  and  I  are  agreed  that  it  will  do 
much  to  promote  my  wife's  safety  for  the  time  being, 
because  this  house  will  be  kept  under  continual  observa- 
tion. But  as  soon  as  I  can  make  other  arrangements 
I  shall  do  so,  of  course.  And  if  you  really  believe  that 
the  safety  of  your  house  and  family  is  involved,  we 
shall  have  no  alternative  but  to  go  at  once." 

To  what  length  ought  we  to  carry  our  altruism? 
Here  was  a  grave  problem  for  the  married  man,  the 
father  of  the  family  and  the  county  member.  In  spite 
of  the  opinion  of  the  cool-headed  and  sagacious  Cover- 
dale,  I  could  not  allay  the  feeling  that  to  harbour  the 
"Stormy  Petrel"  was  to  incur  a  grave  risk.  But  at  the 
same  time  it  was  not  in  me  to  turn  her  adrift  into  the 
highways  and  hedges. 

"Now  that  we  have  had  due  warning  of  what  to  ex- 
pect," said  Coverdale,  "these  gentry  will  not  find  it 
quite  so  easy  to  throw  bombs  in  this  country  as  they  do 
in  Illyria.  And  if  I  thought  for  one  moment  you  were 
not  justified  in  extending  your  hospitality  to  the  Prin- 
cess I  should  certainly  say  so." 

Events  are  generally  too  strong  for  the  humble  mor- 
tals who  are  content  to  tread  the  path  of  mediocrity. 
We  had  already  offered  sanctuary  to  the  Crown  Prin- 
cess of  Illyria.  A  little  painful  reflection  seemed  to 
shew  that  to  revoke  it  now  would  be  rather  inhuman 
and  rather  cowardly.  All  the  same,  it  was  impossible 


MRS.  ARBUTHNOT  TAKES  NOTICE     187 

to  view  with  enthusiasm  the  prospect  of  four  men  in 
plain  clothes  continually  patrolling  the  park. 

"By  the  way,"  said  the  Chief  Constable,  "you  will, 
I  hope,  treat  this  business  of  the  bombs  as  strictly  con- 
fidential. It  won't  help  matters  at  all  to  find  it  in  the 
morning  papers." 

"I  appreciate  that ;  but  won't  the  servants  be  rather 
curious  about  those  four  sportsmen  in  plain  clothes?" 

"Ostensibly  they  are  there  to  look  after  a  gang  of 
burglars  who  are  expected  in  the  neighbourhood." 

"Not  exactly  a  plausible  story,  I  am  afraid!" 

"The  story  doesn't  matter,  so  long  as  they  don't 
suspect  the  truth.  And  as  Mrs.  Fitzwaren's  incognito 
has  been  so  well  kept,  there  is  no  reason  why  they 
should." 

So  much  for  the  latest  development  of  this  amazing 
situation.  From  the  very  moment  the  curtain  had  risen 
upon  the  first  act  of  the  tragi-comedy  of  the  Fitz- 
warens  I  had  seemed  to  be  cast  for  the  uncomfortable 
role  of  the  weak  soul  in  the  toils  of  fate.  From  the 
beginning  it  had  been  contrary  to  the  promptings  of 
the  small  voice  within  that  I  had  borne  a  part  in  their 
destinies.  And  here  they  were  established  under  my 
roof,  a  menace  to  my  household  and  the  enemies  of  all 
peace  of  mind. 

It  only  remained  to  make  the  best  of  things  and  to 
hope  devoutly  that  Fitz  would  soon  arrange  to  relieve 
us  of  the  presence  of  the  "Stormy  Petrel."  But  in  spite 
of  all  the  dark  knowledge  it  was  necessary  to  keep 
locked  up  in  one's  heart,  there  was  an  aspect  of  the 
matter  which  was  rather  charming.  To  watch  the  lion 


188  MRS.    FITZ 

and  the  lamb  lying  down  together,  a  veritable  De  Vere 
Vane-Anstruther  playing  hostess  to  the  fair  eques- 
trienne from  a  continental  circus  was  certainly  pleasant. 

I  think  it  is  up  to  me  to  admit  that  at  the  core  Mrs. 
Arbuthnot  is  as  sound  as  a  bell.  Certainly  her  de- 
meanour towards  her  guests  was  faultless.  Indeed,  it 
made  me  feel  quite  proud  of  her  to  reflect  that  had  she 
really  known  the  true  status  of  our  visitor  she  could 
have  done  nothing  more  for  her  comfort  and  for  that 
of  her  entourage.  Her  foibles  were  condoned  and  "her 
little  foreign  ways"  were  yielded  to  in  the  most  gracious 
manner;  and  after  dinner  that  evening  it  was  a  great 
moment  when  our  distinguished  guest  volunteered  to 
accompany  on  the  piano  her  hostess's  light  contralto. 

I  took  this  to  be  symbolical  of  the  complete  harmony 
in  which  the  day  had  been  spent.  Confirmation  of  this 
was  forthcoming  an  hour  later,  when  we  had  the  draw- 
ing-room to  ourselves. 

"Really  she  is  not  half  such  a  trial  as  I  feared  she 
would  be,"  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  confessed. 

"If  you  meet  people  fairly  and  squarely  half-way," 
said  I,  in  my  favourite  role  of  the  hearthrug  philoso- 
pher, "there  are  surprisingly  few  with  whom  you  can't 
find  something  in  common." 

"Perhaps  there  is  such  a  thing  as  being  too  fas- 
tidious." 

"We  are  apt  to  draw  the  line  a  little  close  at  times, 
eh?" 

"Some  of  these  Bohemians  must  be  rather  interesting 
in  their  way,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot. 


MRS.  ARBUTHNOT  TAKES  NOTICE     189 

"No  doubt  they  have  some  sort  of  a  standard  to  which 
they  try  to  conform,"  said  I  with  excellent  gravity. 

"Of  course  she  is  not  exactly  a  lady.  Yet  in  some 
ways  she  is  rather  nice.  Doesn't  look  at  things  in  the 
way  we  do,  of  course.  Awfully  unconventional  in  some 
of  her  ideas." 

"By  unconventional  you  mean  continental,  I  pre- 
sume?" 

"No,  not  continental  exactly.  At  least,  I  was  'fin- 
ished' in  Dresden,  but  I  didn't  learn  anything  of  that 
kind." 

"Had  you  been  'finished'  in  an  Austrian  circus  per- 
haps you  might  have  done." 

"I  hardly  think  so.  They  don't  seem  to  be  ideas 
you  could  pick  up.  I  should  think  you  would  have  to 
be  born  with  them.  They  seem  somehow  to  belong  to 
your  past — to  your  ancestors." 

"It  has  not  occurred  to  me  that  circus-riders  were 
troubled  with  ancestors." 

"Hardly,  perhaps,  in  the  sense  that  we  mean.  But 
there  is  something  rather  fine  in  their  way  of  looking 
at  things." 

"A  good  type  of  Bohemian  would  you  say?" 

"Surprisingly  so  in  some  ways.  She  doesn't  seem 
to  care  a  bit  about  money  and  she  is  absolutely  devoted 
to  Fitz.  She  doesn't  seem  to  care  a  bit  about  jewels, 
either.  She  has  got  some  positively  gorgeous  things, 
and  if  there  is  anything  I  care  to  have  she  hopes  I'll 
take  it.  Of  course  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  but 
I  should  just  love  to  have  them  all." 


190  MRS.    FITZ 

"She  appears  to  have  had  her  admirers  in  Vienna, 
evidently." 

"That  is  what  one  can't  make  out.  She  has  three 
tiaras,  and  they  must  be  priceless." 

"Nonsense,  mon  enfant.  Even  the  glamour  of  the 
sawdust  a  thousand  times  reflected  cannot  transmute 
paste  into  the  real  thing." 

"But  the  odd  part  of  it  is  they  are  real.  I  am  con- 
vinced of  it;  and  Adele,  my  maid,  who  was  two  years 
with  dear  Evelyn,  is  absolutely  sure." 

"Is  it  conceivable  that  the  possessor  of  three  diamond 
tiaras  would  choose  to  jump  for  a  livelihood  through 
a  hoop  in  pink  tights?" 

"Yes,  I  know  it's  absurd.  But  nothing  will  convince 
me  that  her  diamonds  are  not  real." 

"And  she  offered  you  the  pick  of  them?" 

"The  pick  of  everything  except  the  smallest  of  the 
three  tiaras,  which  she  thought  perhaps  her  father 
might  not  like  her  to  part  with." 

"One  would  have  thought  that  he  would  at  least  have 
set  his  affections  upon  the  largest  of  the  three." 

"Really,  I  can  hardly  swallow  the  circus." 

"You  haven't  by  any  chance  asked  her  the  question." 

"Dear  no !  One  wouldn't  like  to  ask  a  question  of 
that  sort  unless  one  knew  her  quite  well.  I  don't  think 
she  was  ever  in  a  circus  at  all.  Or  if  she  was,  she  may 
have  been  a  sort  of  foundling." 

"Stolen  by  gipsies  from  the  ancestral  castle  in  her 
infancy.  After  all,  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  her 
father  being  a  duke." 

"I  don't  think  it  would  surprise  me,  although,  of 


MRS.  ARBUTHNOT  TAKES  NOTICE     191 

course,  she  is  rather  odd.  But  then  in  all  ways  she  is 
so  different  from  us." 

"Did  you  observe  whether  she  ate  with  her  knife  and 
drank  out  of  the  finger-bowls?" 

"Her  manners  are  just  like  those  of  anybody  else. 
I  am  asking  Mary  to  dine  here  on  Friday,  so  that  she 
can  see  for  herself.  It  is  her  ideas  that  are  un-English ; 
yet,  judged  by  her  own  standard  she  might  be  con- 
sidered quite  nice." 

"Mrs.  Arbuthnot,  surely  a  very  generous  admission !" 

"Let  us  be  fair  to  everybody.  I'm  not  sure  that 
one  couldn't  get  almost  to  like  her.  There  is  something 
about  her  that  seems  to  take  right  hold  of  you.  Per- 
sonal magnetism,  I  suppose." 

"Or  some  uncomfortable  Bohemian  attribute?  Can 
it  be,  do  you  suppose,  that  the  standard  the  English 
gentlewoman  likes  the  whole  world  to  conform  to  would 
be  none  the  worse  for  a  little  wider  basis?" 

"Don't  be  a  goose !  A  person  is  either  a  lady  or  she 
isn't,  but  she  may  be  frightfully  entertaining  and  fas- 
cinating all  the  same." 

"Yes,  that  has  the  hall-mark  of  truth.  There  are 
cases  in  history.  Miss  Dolly  Daydream,  for  example, 
of  the  Frivolity  Theatre." 

Mrs.  Arbuthnot  reproved  me  for  the  levity  with 
which  I  treated  a  grave  issue.  Upon  the  receipt  of  my 
apology  she  regaled  me  with  the  astounding  fact  that 
Mrs.  Fitz  looked  down  on  the  English. 

"Is  it  conceivable?"  said  I,  the  picture  of  incredulity. 

"Really  and  truly  she  does.  Quite  laughs  at  us. 
Says  we  are  so  stupid — bete,  that's  her  word.  And 


192  MRS.    FITZ 

she  says  we  are  so  conceited.  She  seems  to  think  we 
have  very  little  education  in  the  things  that  really 
matter." 

"Is  she  old-fashioned  enough  to  believe  that  there  is 
anything  that  really  matters?" 

"In  a  way  she  does." 

"How  antediluvian !  What  does  she  believe  it  is  that 
really  matters?" 

"She  seems  to  think  it's  the  soul." 

"Dear  me!  I  hope  you  made  it  clear  to  her  that 
that  part  of  the  Englishman's  anatomy  is  never  men- 
tioned in  good  society?" 

"She  knows  that,  I  think.  She  says  why  the  Romans 
are  ashamed  of  it  is  what  she  can't  fathom." 

"She  pays  us  the  compliment  of  comparing  us  to 
the  Romans?" 

"She  says  we  are  the  Romans." 

"In  a  reincarnation,  I  presume?" 

"I  suppose  she  means  that — she  is  so  awfully  odd. 
And  for  the  Romans  to  give  themselves  airs  is  too 
ridiculous." 

"Has  she  no  opinion  of  the  Caesars?" 

"The  Caesars  don't  amount  to  much,  in  her  opinion. 
We  are  going  to  have  another  lesson  before  long,  she 
says,  and  it  will  be  a  very  good  thing  for  the  world." 

"If  by  that  she  means  that  materialism  leads  to  a 
cul-de-sac,  and  that  it  takes  a  better  creed  than  that 
to  raise  a  reptile  out  of  the  mud,  perhaps  we  might  do 
worse  than  agree  with  her." 

"She  certainly  never  said  anything  about  any  'isms.' 
But  I  don't  understand  you  anyway." 


MRS.  ARBUTHNOT  TAKES  NOTICE     193 

"It  seems  to  me,  mon  enfant,  she  has  had  a  good 
deal  to  say  about  the  'isms.'  But  then,  as  you  say, 
she's  so  foreign.  Was  there  anything  else  about  her 
that  engaged  your  attention?" 

"Heaps  of  things.  She  is  terribly  superstitious,  a 
tremendous  believer  in  fate.  She  thinks  everything  is 
fore-ordained,  and  that  the  same  things  keep  happening 
over  again." 

"Doesn't  her  oddness  strike  you  as  rather  out  of 
date?" 

"Absurdly.  But  it  is  not  so  much  her  ideas  as  the 
way  she  lives  up  to  them  that  makes  her  so  different 
from  other  people.  There  was  one  thing  she  told  me 
really  made  me  laugh.  She  said  that  Nevil  was  her 
twin-soul,  and  that  they  lived  in  Babylon  together  about 
three  thousand  years  ago." 

"I  should  think  that  is  not  unlikely." 

"Be  serious,  Odo." 

"There  are  more  things  in  earth  and  heaven,  Horatio, 
than  are  dreamt  of  in  your  philosophy.  Go  to  bed  like 
a  wise  child,  and  dream  of  hunting  the  fox,  and  see  that 
this  Viennese  horsewoman  doesn't  addle  that  brain  too 
much." 

Mrs.  Arbuthnot  confessed  naively  that  she  didn't  feel 
in  the  least  like  sleep. 

"I  think  I'll  have  another  cigarette,"  she  said. 

"Sitting  up  late  and  smoking  to  excess  will  destroy 
that  magnificent  De  Vere  Vane-Anstruther  nerve." 

"Goose!  Yet  I  am  not  sure  that  this  circus  woman 
hasn't  destroyed  it  already.  Do  you  know,  I've  never 
been  in  the  least  afraid  of  anybody  before,  but  I  rather 


194  MRS.    FITZ 

think  I'm  a  bit  afraid  of  her.  She  really  is  wonder- 
fully odd." 

A  slight  tremor  seemed  to  invade  the  voice  of  Mrs. 
Arbuthnot.  I  was  fain  to  believe  that  such  a  display 
of  sensibility  was  extremely  honourable  to  her.  For, 
even  judged  as  a  mere  human  entity,  our  guest  was 
quite  apart  from  the  ordinary,  and  it  would  have  im- 
plied a  measure  of  obtuseness  not  to  recognise  that 
fact. 

Taking  one  consideration  with  another,  I  felt  the 
hour  was  ripe  to  let  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  into  the  secret.  As 
things  were  going  so  well,  it  was  perhaps  not  strictly 
necessary;  yet  at  the  same  time  I  had  a  premonition 
that  I  should  not  be  forgiven  if  the  wife  of  my  bosom 
was  kept  too  long  in  innocence  of  our  visitor's  romantic 
lineage. 

"That  cigarette  of  yours,"  said  I,  "means  another 
pipe  for  me,  although  you  know  quite  well  that  it  makes 
me  so  bad-tempered  in  the  morning.  But  I  think  I 
ought  to  tell  you  something — that  is  if  you  will  swear 
by  all  your  gods  not  to  breathe  a  word  to  a  living  soul, 
not  even  to  Mary  Catesby." 

Mrs.  Arbuthnot  pricked  up  her  ears  properly. 

"Why,  of  course.  You  mean  it  is  something  about 
this  Mrs.  Fitz?  I  know  it." 

"What  do  you  know?" 

"I  can't  explain  it,  but  as  soon  as  I  spoke  to  her  it 
came  upon  me  that  she  was  something  quite  deep  and 
mysterious." 

"Well,  it  happens  that  she  is.  Things  are  not  al- 
ways what  they  seem.  I  am  going  to  give  you  a  guess." 


MRS.  ARBUTHNOT  TAKES  NOTICE     195 

"There  is  something  Grand-Duchessy  about  her. 
You  remember  that  woman  we  met  at  Baden  Baden? 
In  some  ways  she  is  rather  like  her." 

"And  do  you  remember  your  old  friend  the  King  of 
Illyria? — 'the  old  johnny  with  the  white  hair,'  to  quote 
Joseph  Jocelyn  De  Vere." 

"The  dear  old  man  in  the  Jubilee  procession?" 

"The  Victor  of  Rodova;  the  representative  of  the 
oldest  reigning  monarchy  in  Europe." 

"Yes,  yes.     Such  an  old  dear." 

"Well,  our  friend  Mrs.  Fitz  happens  to  be  his  only 
child,  the  Heiress  Apparent  to  the  throne  of  Illyria. 
What  have  you  to  say  to  that  ?" 

For  the  moment  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  had  nothing  at  all 
to  say,  but  she  looked  as  though  a  feather  would  have 
knocked  her  over. 

"It  is  a  small  world,  isn't  it,  mon  enfant?" 

"It  really  is  the  oddest  thing  out !"  Mrs.  Arbuthnot's 
feminine  organisation  was  quite  tense.  "It  doesn't  sur- 
prise me,  and  yet  it  is  really  too  queer." 

"Ridiculously  queer  that  humdrum  people  like  us 
should  be  entertaining  royalties  unawares." 

"Not  nearly  so  queer  as  that  she  should  have  married 
Nevil  Fitzwaren.  How  did  she  come  to  marry  him?" 

"They  are  twin-souls  who  lived  in  Babylon  three 
thousand  years  ago." 

"That  is  merely  silly." 

"My  authority  is  her  Royal  Highness." 

"Fancy  the  Crown  Princess  of  Illyria  running  off 
with  a  man  like  Fitz!" 


196  MRS.    FITZ 

"There  is  reason  to  suppose  that  he  makes  her 
happy." 

"Why,  one  day  she  will  be  Queen  of  Illyria !" 

"She  may  be  or  she  may  not." 

"Well,  I  can't  believe  it  anyway!  There  is  no 
proof." 

"There  is  no  proof  beyond  herself.  And  I  confess 
that  to  me  she  carries  conviction." 

For  an  instant  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  knitted  her  brows 
in  the  process  of  thought.  She  then  concurred  with  a 
perplexed  little  sigh. 

"But  how  dreadfully  awkward  it  will  be,"  she  said 
in  a  kind  of  rapture,  "for  poor  dear  Mary  Catesby!" 


CHAPTER  XIX 
HER  ROYAL  HIGHNESS  RECEIVES  A  LETTER 

PLEDGED  to  secrecy,  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  earned  a  meed 
of  praise  for  her  behaviour  during  a  crowded  and 
glorious  epoch.  If  you  entertain  the  Crown  Princess 
of  an  active  and  potent  monarchy  it  is  reasonable  to 
expect  that  things  will  happen. 

Things  did  happen  in  some  profusion  during  the 
sojourn  of  her  Royal  Highness  at  Dympsfield  House. 
Owing  to  the  course  taken  by  events  which  I  shall  have 
presently  to  narrate,  that  sojourn  was  prolonged  in- 
definitely. The  resources  of  our  modest  establishment 
were  taxed  to  the  uttermost,  but  throughout  a  really 
trying  period  it  is  due  to  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  to  say  that 
she  was  a  model  of  tact,  discretion  and  natural  good- 
ness. 

She  would  have  been  unworthy  the  name  of  woman 
— a  title  not  without  pretensions  to  honour,  as  socio- 
logists inform  us — had  she  not  literally  burned  to 
communicate  her  knowledge  of  the  true  identity  of  "the 
circus  rider  from  Vienna."  But  some  compensation  was 
culled  from  the  fact  that  her  co-workers  in  the  cause  of 
the  Public  Decency  grew  increasingly  lofty  in  their 
point  of  view.  Even  the  promptings  of  a  healthy  hu- 

197 


198  MRS.    FITZ 

man  curiosity  would  not  permit  Mrs.  Catesby  to  eat 
at  our  board  in  order  that  she  might  see  for  herself. 
Mournfully  that  woman  of  an  unblemished  virtue  shook 
her  head  over  us. 

"It  was  not  kind  to  dear  Evelyn.  It  was  right,  of 
course,  to  sympathise  with  the  Fitzwarens  in  their  mis- 
fortune. But  the  place  was  old,  and  George  understood 
that  it  was  covered  by  insurance.  And  fortunately  all 
the  pictures  that  were  worth  anything — and  some  that 
were  not — had  been  saved.  But  to  take  them  under 
one's  wing  as  we  had  done  was  Quixotic  and  bound  to 
give  offence.  Besides,  that  kind  of  person  would  be 
quite  in  her  element  at  the  village  inn,  the  Coach  and 
Horses." 

Nevertheless,  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  bore  every  reproof 
with  a  stoical  fortitude.  What  it  cost  her  "not  to  give 
away  the  show,"  to  indulge  in  the  phrase  of  Joseph 
Jocelyn  De  Vere,  it  would  be  idle  to  estimate.  But  she 
was  true  to  the  oath  she  had  sworn  on  the  night  of  the 
great  revelation.  Not  to  a  living  soul  did  she  yield 
her  secret. 

To  Jodey  himself  what  he  was  pleased  to  call  "the 
royal  visit"  was  a  matter  of  undiluted  joy.  It  is  true 
that  he  was  turned  out  of  his  bedroom,  the  best  in  the 
house,  which  commands  an  unrivalled  view  of  Knolling- 
ton  Gorse,  and  had  to  be  content  with  humbler  quar- 
ters ;  but  our  Bayard  was  so  perfectly  au  courant  with 
all  that  had  happened,  even  unto  the  presence  of  the 
four  men  in  plain  clothes  in  the  shrubbery,  that  the 
situation  was  much  to  his  taste. 

When  the  Princess  was  not  herself  present,  it  pleased 


RECEIVES  A  LETTER  199 

him  to  treat  the  whole  thing  as  a  matter  for  somewhat 
laborious  satire^ 

"Ain't  you  got  a  bit  o'  red  carpet  and  an  awning 
for  the  front  steps,  Mops?  And  why  don't  Odo  sport 
his  order  at  dinner?  Can't  see  the  use,  myself,  in  hav- 
ing an  order  if  you  don't  sport  it  for  royalty.  Must 
put  your  best  leg  first.  Buck  up  a  bit,  old  gal,  else  her 
Royal  'Ighness  will  think  you  haven't  been  used  to  it. 
Anyhow,  you  must  tell  Parkins  to  be  dam  careful  how 
he  decants  that  '63." 

In  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Fitz,  however,  the  demeanour 
of  my  relation  by  marriage  was  not  unlike  that  of  a 
linesman  standing  at  attention  on  a  field  day.  His 
deportment  was  so  fearfully  correct  in  every  detail; 
his  attire  so  extraordinarily  nice — he  discarded  gay 
waistcoats  and  brilliant  neckties  as  being  hardly  "the 
thing" — his  hair  was  groomed  so  marvellously,  and  he 
was  so  overpoweringly  polite  that  it  was  a  source  of 
wonder  how  the  young  fellow  contrived  to  maintain  the 
standard  he  had  prescribed  for  himself. 

It  was  a  period  of  anxiety,  yet  it  was  not  without  its 
interest.  In  a  very  short  time  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  had 
divined  the  raison  d'etre  of  the  four  men  in  the  park, 
but  this  did  nothing  to  impair  her  sense  of  hospitality. 
Fitz  did  not  favour  us  with  much  of  his  company  except 
in  the  evening.  During  the  day  his  energies  were 
absorbed  with  the  arrangements  for  the  rebuilding  of 
the  Grange,  and,  as  I  gathered,  with  further  provisions 
for  the  safety  of  his  wife.  All  the  same,  limited  as  was 
the  time  at  his  disposal,  it  was  our  privilege  to  watch 
him  sustain  the  domestic  character. 


200  MRS.    FITZ 

Whatever  the  incongruity  of  their  fortunes,  it  was 
clear  that  Fitz  and  his  wife  had  a  genuine  devotion  for 
one  another.  And  in  spite  of  their  apartness  and  the 
idea  they  conveyed  of  living  entirely  to  themselves  with- 
out reference  to  the  lives  of  humbler  mortals,  each 
seemed  to  possess  a  quality  worthy  to  inspire  it.  In  a 
measure  I  was  privileged  to  share  their  confidence  dur- 
ing the  time  they  stayed  under  our  roof;  and  it  was 
characteristic  of  them  both  that  at  heart  they  had  a 
rather  charming  and  childlike  frankness.  Each  of 
them  revealed  unexpected  qualities. 

I  think  I  am  entitled  to  say  that  I  never  shared  the 
hostility  they  seemed  to  arouse  in  others.  All  his  life 
long  Fitz,  as  far  as  I  had  known  him,  had  been  con- 
demned to  play  the  part  of  the  black  sheep.  Partly 
it  may  have  been  due  to  his  habit  of  refusing  to  go  with 
the  tide;  of  his  declared  hatred  of  any  kind  of  a  ma- 
jority. He  had  always  been  a  law  unto  himself,  and 
had  given  a  very  free  rein  to  his  personality.  To  me 
he  had  ever  stood  revealed  as  one  capable  of  anything ; 
of  the  greatest  good  or  of  the  greatest  evil;  and  to 
behold  him  now  in  the  domestic  circle,  in  close  affinity 
with  the  magnetic  being  in  whom  the  whole  of  his  life 
was  centred,  was  to  find  him  endowed  with  a  charm  and 
a  fascination  which  had  no  place  in  the  nature  of  the 
Nevil  Fitzwaren  that  was  seen  by  the  eyes  of  the  world. 

To  me  there  was  something  beautiful  and  also  a  little 
pathetic  in  the  relationship  which  seemed  to  exist  be- 
tween these  two  diverse  souls.  Their  implicit  faith  in 
the  Tightness  of  each  other,  their  sense  of  adequacy, 
was  a  very  rare  thing.  So  many  of  the  ignoble  things 


RECEIVES  A  LETTER  201 

of  life,  questions  of  material  expediency,  of  shallow 
prejudice,  of  partial  judgment,  they  seemed  to  have 
ruled  out  altogether.  And  this  could  not  have  been 
otherwise  if  one  reflected  that  a  veritable  kingdom  of 
this  world  was  the  price  that  had  been  paid  for  this 
true  fellowship. 

My  previous  encounters  with  Mrs.  Fitz  had  been  of 
a  somewhat  trying  nature.  But  on  the  domestic  hearth 
she  was  much  less  formidable.  The  impetuous  arro- 
gance which  had  proved  so  disconcerting  to  everybody 
was  not  so  much  in  evidence.  Her  charm  seemed  to 
become  rarefied  as  it  grew  more  humane.  The  childlike 
directness  of  her  point  of  view  began  to  emerge  more 
and  more  and  to  enhance  her  fascination ;  indeed,  her 
way  of  looking  at  things  became  a  perpetual  delight 
to  such  sophisticated  minds  as  ours. 

Her  total  inability  to  take  us  seriously  was  quite 
piquant.  Our  England  and  all  that  was  in  it  amused 
her  vastly.  She  would  compare  it  to  an  enchanted  land 
in  one  of  Perrault's  fairy-tales.  But  our  code  of  life, 
our  manners  and  customs,  our  ideals,  our  mechanical 
contrivances  and,  above  all,  our  solemnity  concerning 
them,  never  failed  to  appeal  to  her  sense  of  humour. 

It  was  my  especial  pleasure  to  converse  with  her  after 
dinner.  I  should  not  say  that  the  art  of  conversation 
was  her  strong  point,  and  it  was  not  until  she  had  been 
a  week  in  our  midst  that  I  was  able  to  come  to  anything 
approaching  close  quarters  with  her.  But  it  was  worth 
making  the  effort  to  get  past  the  barrier  that  was  un- 
consciously erected  by  her  air  of  disillusion,  of  patient, 
plaintive  tolerance. 


202  MRS.    FITZ 

There  was  a  quaint  definiteness  about  her  ideas. 
Touching  all  questions  that  had  real  significance  her 
thinking  seemed  to  have  been  done  for  her  generations 
ago.  All  that  lay  outside  the  life  of  the  emotions  was 
to  her  the  wearisome  iteration  of  a  constitutional  prac- 
tice, a  necessary  but  somewhat  painful  part  of  the 
order  of  things. 

Perhaps  the  most  surprising  thing  about  her  was  her 
humility.  The  pomp  of  kingship  was  to  her  the  hollow- 
est  of  all  chimeras.  It  merely  resolved  itself  into  the 
guardianship  of  a  profoundly  ignorant,  an  undeveloped 
and  an  extremely  thankless  proletariat.  "Helas!  poor 
souls,  they  don't  know  what  is  good,"  was  a  phrase  she 
used  with  a  maternal  sigh.  The  divine  right  of  kings 
was  part  and  parcel  of  the  cosmic  order,  a  fact  as 
pregnant  and  inviolable  as  the  presence  of  the  sun  and 
the  planets  in  the  firmament.  To  be  called  to  the  state 
of  kingship  was  an  extremely  honourable  condition, 
"but  you  had  always  to  be  praying."  It  was  also  hon- 
ourable and  not  so  irksome  to  be  an  unregarded  unit  of 
the  proletariat. 

I  am  not  sure,  but  I  incline  to  the  belief,  that  the  fact 
that  I  had  a  seat  in  the  House  enabled  her  to  support 
my  curiosity  with  more  tolerance  than  she  might  have 
done  had  I  been  without  some  sort  of  official  sanction. 
She  regarded  me  as  a  chosen  servant  of  le  bon  roi 
Edouard;  either  my  own  personal  grace  or  that  of  my 
kindred  had  commended  itself  to  the  guardian  of  the 
state. 

"Are  not,"  said  I,  "the  members  of  the  Illyrian 
Parliament  elected  by  the  people?" 


RECEIVES  A  LETTER  203 

"Yes,  my  father  gave  the  people  the  franchise  in 
1890,  and  the  nobles  have  never  forgiven  him.  So  now 
the  people  choose  their  sixty  deputies  out  of  a  list  he 
draws  up  for  their  guidance ;  the  lords  of  the  land 
choose  another  sixty  from  among  themselves ;  and  then, 
as  so  often  happens,  if  the  two  Chambers  cannot  agree, 
the  King  gives  advice." 

"The  King  of  Illyria  has  heavy  duties !" 

"My  father  loves  hard  work." 

"Are  you  troubled,  ma'am,  with  a  democratic  move- 
ment in  Illyria,  as  all  the  rest  of  Europe  appears  to  be 
at  the  present  time?" 

The  gesture  of  her  Royal  Highness  was  one  of  pity. 

"Helas,  poor  souls !" 

It  was  delicate  ground  upon  which  to  tread.  But 
the  fascination  of  such  an  inquiry  lured  me  on  where 
doubtless  the  canons  of  good  taste  would  have  had  me 
stay. 

"Would  you  not  say,  ma'am,  your  Republican  Party 
was  a  menace  to  the  state?" 

"They  don't  know  what  is  good,  poor  souls."  Her 
voice  was  gentle.  "They  will  have  to  learn." 

"Will  the  King  be  the  means  of  teaching  them?" 

"Helas!  he  is  too  old.  It  must  be  left  to  fate.  Poor 
souls,  poor  souls !" 

During  the  sojourn  of  her  Royal  Highness  at 
Dympsfield  House,  we  saw  a  good  deal  of  the  Chief  Con- 
stable of  our  county.  In  a  sense  he  had  made  himself 
responsible  for  the  safety  of  us  all.  His  vigilance  was 
great,  and  its  unobtrusiveness  was  part  of  the  man.  No 
precaution  was  neglected  which  could  minister  to  our 


204  MRS.    FITZ 

security ;  and  he  gave  his  personal  attention  to  matters 
of  detail  which  less  thorough-going  individuals  might 
have  considered  to  be  beneath  their  notice. 

He  was  particularly  insistent  that  the  Princess 
should  give  up  her  hunting,  and  that  she  should  confine 
the  scope  of  her  activities,  as  far  as  possible,  to  the 
grounds  of  the  house.  To  this  she  was  not  in  the  least 
amenable.  An  out-and-out  believer  in  fate,  and  a  sub- 
scriber to  the  doctrine  of  what  has  to  be,  will  be,  the 
bullets  of  the  anarchist  had  no  terrors  for  her.  To 
Coverdale's  annoyance,  she  continued  to  hunt  in  spite 
of  his  solemn  and  repeated  warnings.  And  when  he 
was  moved  to  remonstrate  with  Fitz  upon  the  subject, 
he  met  with  the  reply,  "She  pleases  herself  entirely." 

"But,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  the  Chief  Constable, 
"surely  you  must  know  that  she  is  exposing  herself  to 
grave  risks." 

"If  a  thing  seems  good  to  her  she  does  it,"  was  Fitz's 
unprofitable  rejoinder. 

The  great  man  was  frankly  annoyed. 

"That  is  very  wrong,  to  my  mind,"  he  said  with  some 
heat.  "It  is  unfair  to  those  who  have  made  themselves 
responsible  for  her  safety." 

"It  is  a  question  of  free-will,"  said  Fitz,  "and  she 
knows  far  more  about  that  than  most  people.  And 
when  it  comes  to  a  matter  of  choosing  right,  she  has  a 
special  faculty." 

So  inconclusive  a  reply  merely  ministered  to  the 
wrath  of  the  Chief  Constable,  who  in  private  com- 
plained to  me  bitterly. 

"I  wish  to  heaven  they  would  quit  the  country,"  he 


RECEIVES  A  LETTER  205 

said.  "They  are  a  source  of  endless  worry  and  ex- 
pense. We  do  all  we  can  to  help  them,  and  I  must  say 
the  Yard  is  wonderful,  yet  they  can't  be  induced  to 
take  the  most  elementary  precautions.  I  regret  now, 
Arbuthnot,  that  I  urged  you  to  shelter  them.  I  had 
hoped  they  were  rational  and  sensible  people,  but  I 
now  find  they  are  not." 

"You  think,  Coverdale,  the  danger  is  as  real  as  ever  ?" 

"Frankly  I  do.  Ferdinand  the  Twelfth  has  played 
it  up  so  high  in  Illyria  that  the  Republicans  are  deter- 
mined to  make  an  end  of  the  monarchy." 

"But  didn't  she  renounce  her  right  to  the  throne 
when  she  married  Fitz?" 

"In  effect  she  may  have  done  so,  but  the  Illyrian  law 
of  succession  will  not  contemplate  such  an  act.  Fer- 
dinand makes  no  secret  of  the  fact,  apparently,  that 
he  will  compel  her  to  marry  the  Archduke  Joseph,  and 
that  she  must  succeed  to  the  throne." 

"How  is  it  possible  for  him  to  give  effect  to  his 
will?" 

"He  is  a  strong  man,  and  if  he  sets  his  mind  upon 
a  particular  course  of  action  few  have  been  able  to 
deny  him." 

"Then  you  think  her  marriage  with  Fitz  is  merely 
an  episode  in  what  is  likely  to  be  a  brilliant  but  stormy 
career?" 

"Always  provided  it  is  not  cut  short  by  one  of  those 
bullets  it  is  our  duty  to  anticipate.  I  can  only  tell  you 
that  the  Foreign  Office  is  now  very  anxious  to  get  her 
out  of  the  country,  and  that  if  they  dared  they  would 
deport  her." 


206  MRS.    FITZ 

"Ho,  ho!" 

An  academic  admirer  of  our  constitutional  practice, 
I  was  fain  to  indulge  in  a  whistle. 

"And,  strictly  between  ourselves,"  said  the  Chief  Con- 
stable, "if  only  the  right  government  were  in,  deported 
she  would  be." 

"A  fine  proceeding,  I  am  bound  to  say,  for  a  country 
with  our  pretensions  to  liberalism !" 

"Under  the  rose,  of  course."  The  Chief  Constable 
permitted  himself  a  dour  smile.  "I  daresay  it  would 
make  a  precedent,  and  yet  one  is  not  so  sure  about  that. 
But  one  thing  I  am  sure  about,  and  that  is  that  some  of 
us  are  devilish  unpopular  in  high  places.  They  would 
not  be  averse  from  making  things  rather  warm  for  cer- 
tain individuals  who  shall  be  nameless.  They  are  pretty 
well  agreed  that  we  ought  to  have  kept  our  fingers  out 
of  the  pie.  As  old  L.  said  to  me  yesterday,  she  has 
got  to  leave  the  country,  and  the  sooner  she  goes  the 
better  it  will  be  for  all  concerned." 

All  this  tended  to  bring  no  comfort  to  the  married 
man,  the  father  of  the  family  and  the  county  member. 
If  anything,  it  deepened  his  anxiety. 

It  is  only  just  to  state,  however,  that  this  feeling 
was  not  shared  by  Mrs.  Arbuthnot.  To  be  sure,  she 
was  not  acquainted  with  all  that  had  happened.  But 
as  far  as  she  was  concerned  the  element  of  danger  in 
the  case  was  an  essential  and  rather  delightful  con- 
comitant to  its  romance. 

The  Vane-Anstruther  hypersensitiveness  to  that 
mysterious  ideal  "good  form"  rendered  it  necessary 
that  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  should  perform  a  volte-face. 


RECEIVES  A  LETTER  207 

This  she  proceeded  to  do  with  really  amazing  complete- 
ness and  efficiency.  No  sooner  was  the  true  identity 
of  our  visitor  established,  than,  as  far  as  the  ruler  of 
Dympsfield  House  was  concerned,  there  was  an  end  of 
the  circus-rider  from  Vienna  and  all  her  works.  The 
ingrained  Vane-Anstruther  reverence  for  royalty,  due 
I  have  ever  been  led  to  believe  to  an  uncle  who  held  a 
Household  appointment,  received  full  play.  The  light- 
est whim  of  the  Princess — except  before  the  servants  it 
was  ever  the  Princess — was  law.  • 

Mrs.  Arbuthnot  did  not  go  without  a  reward.  Such 
an  incursion  did  she  make  upon  the  royal  regard  that 
in  a  surprisingly  short  time  she  was  addressed  as  Irene, 
and  about  the  end  of  the  first  week  of  the  visit  the  intel- 
ligence was  confided  to  me  that  the  Princess  had  asked 
to  be  called  Sonia.  Without  a  doubt  we  were  living  in 
a  crowded  and  glorious  epoch.  And  I  do  not  think  its 
glamour  was  in  any  degree  impaired  by  the  strictures 
of  the  world. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the  Crackanthorpe 
ladies  were  scandalised  by  the  open  and  flagrant  treason 
of  Mrs.  Arbuthnot.  She  had  taken  the  queen  of  the 
sawdust  into  the  bosom  of  her  family.  Together  they 
hunted  the  fox ;  together  they  overrode  the  Crackan- 
thorpe Hounds.  Loud  and  bitter  were  the  lamentations 
of  Mrs.  Catesby.  The  whole  county  shook  its  head. 

Mrs.  Arbuthnot  wore  the  crown  of  martyrdom  with 
extraordinary  grace  and  nerve.  Her  conduct  in  public 
was  marked  by  a  cynical  impropriety,  a  flagrant 
audacity  at  which  the  world  rubbed  its  eyes  and  won- 
dered. 


208  MRS.    FITZ 

"I  really  believe,"  said  Mrs.  Catesby  one  day  as 
together  we  made  our  way  home  through  the  January 
twilight,  "that  if  Irene  belonged  to  me  I  should  chastise 
her.  Can  you  be  unaware  that  she  allows  the  creature 
to  call  her  by  her  first  name?  And  Laura  Glendinning 
assures  me  that  with  her  own  ears  she  heard  her  address 
her  as  Matilda,  or  whatever  the  name  is  she  received  in 
baptism." 

"Yes,  it's  a  desperate  situation,"  I  agreed  with  a 
sigh  which  had  perhaps  a  greater  sincerity  than  it  was 
allowed  the  credit. 

"I  hold  you  entirely  responsible,"  said  the  Great 
Lady.  "And  so  does  everybody  who  knows  the  true 
facts  of  the  case.  That  deplorable  evening  at  the 
Savoy — and  now  you  actually  find  her  house  room  in 
order  that  she  may  demoralise  your  wife!  What  a 
merciful  thing  it  is  that  your  dear,  good,  devoted 
mother,  the  most  refined  of  women,  is  no  longer  with  us ! 
By  the  way,  Odo,  I  suppose  you  have  heard  that  there 
is  some  talk  of  asking  you  to  resign  your  seat?" 

"That  is  news  to  me,  my  dear  Mary,  I  assure  you." 

"The  Vicar  thinks  you  ought.  He  seems  to  think 
that  if  you  have  any  Christian  feeling  about  things  you 
will  do  so  on  your  own  initiative." 

"It  is  so  like  the  Church  of  England  not  to  realise 
that  by  the  time  a  man  reaches  the  age  of  forty  he  has 
gone  over  to  Buddha." 

"I  don't  know  in  the  least  what  you  mean,  but  I  hope 
it  is  nothing  improper.  But  I  can  assure  you  that  the 
Vicar's  opinion  is  shared  by  others.  The  Castle  is 
dreadfully  wounded.  Poor  dear  Evelyn  will  never  for- 


RECEIVES  A  LETTER  209 

give  it — never!  No  more  fishing  in  Scotland  and  no 
more  shooting.  At  any  rate,  it  will  be  a  mere  waste  of 
time  and  money  for  you  to  stand  again." 

It  only  remained  for  me  to  agree  very  cordially  with 
Mrs.  Catesby,  and  to  confess  to  surprise  that  my  con- 
stituents had  not  made  the  discovery  sooner. 

"But,"  said  I  cheerfully,  "here  we  are  at  that  fine 
example  of  late  Jacobean  art  known  as  Dympsfield 
House.  I  would  that  I  could  prevail  upon  you,  Mary, 
to  honour  our  guest  by  drinking  a  cup  of  tea  in  her 
presence.  It  would  be  a  graceful  act  which  I  am  sure 
we  should  all  appreciate." 

"I  have  a  conscience,  Odo  Arbuthnot,"  said  the  Great 
Lady,  with  a  severity  of  mien  that  rendered  the  an- 
nouncement superfluous.  "Also  I  have  some  kind  of  a 
standard  of  morals,  manners  and  general  conduct  which 
I  strive  to  live  up  to." 

At  the  gate  I  said  au  revoir  to  the  outraged  matron. 
Having  disposed  of  my  horse,  I  made  my  way  indoors. 
The  ladies  had  come  home  in  the  car  and  were  at  the 
tea-table  already.  Among  a  number  of  other  weak- 
nesses which  go  with  a  strong  infusion  of  the  feminine 
temperament,  I  confess  to  a  decided  partiality  for  the 
cup  which  cheers  yet  does  not  inebriate. 

Mrs.  Arbuthnot  was  pouring  out  the  tea  and  her 
Royal  Highness  was  standing  in  front  of  the  fire.  She 
was  reading  a  letter,  and  to  judge  by  her  brilliantly 
expressive  countenance,  its  contents  were  affording  a 
good  deal  of  exercise  for  her  emotions. 

"I  wish,  Sonia,  I  could  convert  you  to  cream  and 
sugar,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot,  declining  to  entrust  the 


210  MRS.    FITZ 

cup  to  my  care,  but  rising  importantly  and  personally 
handing  it  to  the  occupant  of  the  hearthrug. 

"Oh,  no,  t'ank  you.  Lemon  a  la  Russe.  What  a 
people  to  take  cream  and  sugar  in  their  tea !" 

She  enforced  her  idea  of  the  absurdity  by  giving 
Mrs.  Arbuthnot  a  playfully  affectionate  pinch  of  the 
ear. 

"I  have  a  piece  of  news  for  you,  my  child.  Now, 
you  must  not  laugh." 

"Oh,  no,  Sonia,  I  will  not  laugh." 

The  somewhat  exaggerated  note  of  Mrs.  Arbuthnot's 
obedience  was  not  unlike  that  of  the  model  girl  of  the 
class  being  examined  by  the  head-mistress. 

"Now,  Irene,  be  quite  good.  Not  even  a  smile."  The 
Princess  held  up  a  finger  of  mock  imperiousness.  "Dis 
is  most  serious.  Shall  I  tell  you  now,  or  shall  I  to- 
morrow tell  you?" 

"Oh,  please,  please,"  piped  Mrs.  Arbuthnot.  "Please 
tell  me  at  once.  Is  it  those  absurd  Republicans  ?" 

"Oh,  no,  my  child;  it  is  something  much  more  inter- 
esting. My  father  is  on  his  way  to  England." 

In  sheer  exultation  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  gave  a  little  leap 
into  the  air. 

"0-oh!"  she  gasped. 

"Think  of  it,  my  child!  The  royal  and  august  one 
coming  to  this  funny  little  island,  where  everything  is 
according  to  Perrault.  He  is  coming  with  old  Schalk." 

"O-oh!"  gasped  Mrs.  Arbuthnot. 

"You  don't  know  Schalk.  Wait  till  you  have  seen 
Schalk  and  then  you  will  die.  He  will  kill  you  quite. 
He  looks  like  dis,  and  he  walks  so." 


RECEIVES  A  LETTER 

Her  Royal  Highness  made  a  face  that  was  really 
comic  and  took  a  few  steps  across  the  carpet  in  imita- 
tion of  Schalk  going  to  the  House  of  Deputies. 

"Are  they  really  coming?" 

"On  Thursday  they  arrive  at  Southampton." 

"They  will  go  straight  to  Windsor,  of  course." 

"Oh,  no,  my  child;  it  is  not  a  visit  of  state.  It  is 
quite  a  secret,  what  you  call  incognito.  The  King  is 
coming  to  make  obedient  his  wicked  daughter.  Helas!" 

With  tragic  suddenness  the  Princess  dropped  her 
voice  and  the  laughter  died  in  her  eyes.  But  Mrs.  Ar- 
buthnot  was  far  too  deeply  engrossed  in  her  own  wild 
and  extravagant  thoughts  to  pay  heed  to  the  change. 

"But  if  the  King  does  not  go  to  Windsor,  where  else 
can  he  go?"  said  she.  "An  hotel  doesn't  seem  right, 
somehow,  although,  of  course,  there  are  some  rather 
nice  ones  in  London." 

"I  think,  my  child,"  said  the  Princess  calmly,  "it  were 
best  that  my  father  came  to  us.  They  have  anarchists 
in  London.  Besides,  I  insist  that  you  see  Schalk.  He 
will  make  you  laugh  until  you  shed  tears." 

It  was  as  much  as  ever  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  could  do  to 
keep  herself  in  hand. 

"Oh,  Sonia,"  she  cried,  "do  you  really  think  the  King 
will  come  to  us?" 

"Mais  oui,  certainement,  that  is  his  intention.  But  it 
is  a  secret,  a  grand  secret,  you  must  not  fail  to  remem- 
ber. Le  bon  roi  Edouard  must  not  know  he  is  in  this 
country.  His  name  will  be  Count  Zhygny ;  and  perhaps 
our  good  Odo  here  will  be  able  to  find  him  a  little  shoot- 
ing. Hares,  partridges,  anything  that  goes  on  four 


MRS.    FITZ 

legs  will  amuse  him;  and  you  must  never  forget,  my 
good  Odo,  that  he  is  the  best  player  at  Britch  in  Illyria. 
Now  mind  you  don't  play  very  high,  or  he  will  ruin  you. 
And  so  will  Schalk." 

"I  thank  you,  ma'am,  for  the  information,"  said  I 
gravely. 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  LITTLE  DIPLOMACY 

THE  announcement  that  Ferdinand  the  Twelfth,  ac- 
companied by  his  famous  minister,  Baron  von  Schalk, 
was  on  his  way  to  this  country  and  that  he  was  coming 
straight  to  Dympsfield  House  can  only  be  described  as 
a  blow  to  one  confirmed  in  the  habit  of  mediocrity.  Had 
I  had  only  myself  to  consult  in  the  matter,  I  should 
have  argued  with  all  the  vigour  of  which  my  nature  is 
capable,  that  it  would  be  quite  impossible  for  us  to  put 
them  up.  The  lack  of  accommodation  that  was  afforded 
by  our  modest  establishment;  the  obscurity  of  our 
social  state;  our  radical  unfitness  for  the  honour  that 
was  to  be  thrust  upon  us ;  all  these  disabilities  and  many 
another  surged  through  my  brain,  while  I  laved  my 
tired  limbs  and  struggled  into  a  "boiled"  shirt,  and  tied 
my  "white  tie  for  royalty"  in  accordance  with  the 
sumptuary  decree  of  Joseph  Jocelyn  De  Vere.  So 
acute,  indeed,  became  the  conviction  that  something 
must  be  done  to  turn  the  tide  of  events  that  I  was  fain 
to  go  next  door  to  Fitz.  That  worthy  was  in  the  act 
of  brushing  his  hair. 

"You've  heard  the  news,  I  suppose?"  said  I,  and  as 
I  spoke  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  my  own  gloomy  and  shirt- 
sleeved  apparition  in  a  looking-glass. 

213 


MRS.    FITZ 

"What  news,  old  son?"  said  the  Man  of  Destiny, 
negligently  shaking  something  out  of  a  bottle  on  to  his 
scalp.  "Not  been  shootin'  at  Sonia,  have  they?  Police 
are  devilish  vigilant.  I'm  hanged  if  we  haven't  had 
a  couple  of  mounted  detectives  with  us  all  day.  They 
rode  like  it,  anyway." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  haven't  heard?"  said  I, 
positively  hating  the  man  for  his  coolness.  "Hasn't 
the  Princess  told  you  that  her  father  is  on  his  way  to 
this  country,  and  that  he  is  coming  straight  to  us?" 

Fitz  laid  down  his  hair-brushes  and  turned  round  to 
face  me. 

"Get  out!"  he  said.     "Ferdinand  coming  here!" 

"Yes ;  she  had  a  letter  this  evening  to  that  effect." 

Fitz  betrayed  astonishment.  And  under  the  mask 
of  his  habitual  indifference  I  thought  he  also  betrayed 
something  else. 

"That  poisonous  old  swine  coming  here!"  he  mut- 
tered. 

"Yes;  he  is  coming  with  Baron  von  Schalk." 

"They  generally  hunt  in  couples.  He  never  goes 
anywhere  without  his  familiar.  But  I  don't  like  your 
news  at  all." 

"I  like  the  news  as  little  as  you  do,"  said  I.  "Really, 
we  can  hardly  do  with  them  here." 

Fitz  stroked  his  chin  pensively,  and  then  shook  his 
head. 

"It  looks  as  though  we  shall  have  to  put  up  with 
them,  I'm  afraid.  If  they  are  really  on  the  way,  I  don't 
quite  see  how  we  can  shirk  them.  Ferdinand  is  coming 
as  a  private  person,  I  presume?" 


A  LITTLE  DIPLOMACY  215 

"So  I  gather.  But  what  do  you  suppose  is  his  motive 
in  making  this  sudden  pilgrimage  to  see  his  daughter?" 

Fitz  did  not  answer  the  question  immediately. 

"It  admits  of  only  one  explanation,"  he  said  at  last. 
"His  other  scheme  having  failed,  he  has  the  audacity 
to  take  the  thing  in  hand  himself.  But  that  is  his  way. 
Whatever  may  be  thought  of  his  policy  and  the  style 
in  which  it  is  carried  out,  it  can't  be  denied  that  he  is  a 
very  remarkable  man.  But  I  wish  to  God  he  would 
keep  away  from  England !" 

The  son-in-law  of  Ferdinand  the  Twelfth  ended  with 
an  abrupt  outburst.  Evidently  the  prospect  of  coming 
to  grips  with  his  august  relation  was  not  to  be  viewed 
lightly. 

"But  it  hardly  seems  right,"  he  said,  "for  him  to 
take  pot-luck  at  the  Coach  and  Horses.  I  shall  be  im- 
mensely grateful,  Arbuthnot,  if  you  will  put  him  up 
here,  and  of  course  it  is  quite  understood  that  I  stand 
the  shot." 

"The  question  of  the  shot,  my  dear  fellow,  doesn't 
enter  into  the  case  at  all.  But,  you  see,  we  are  just 
simple,  ordinary  folk,  and  we  are  not  quite  up  to  this 
sort  of  thing;  and  then  again,  our  accommodation  is 
limited." 

"Oh,  that  will  be  all  right.  If  you  can  squeeze  in 
Ferdinand  and  old  Schalk  here,  their  people  can  stay 
in  the  village." 

I  am  not  often  troubled  by  anything  in  the  nature 
of  an  inspiration,  but  desperation  has  been  known  to 
quicken  the  most  lethargic  minds. 

"By  Jove,"  said  I,  "there's  Brasset.     He  is  mounted 


216  MRS.    FITZ 

on  a  far  better  scale  than  we  are.  The  very  man !  I'm 
sure,  if  the  matter  were  mentioned  to  him,  he  would  feel 
himself  immensely  honoured." 

"Yes,"  said  Fitz,  "it  is  not  half  a  bad  idea.  I  will 
mention  it  to  Sonia." 

"Of  course,  my  dear  fellow,"  I  explained,  "you  un- 
derstand that  my  wife  and  I  immensely  appreciate  the 
honour  of  entertaining  the  King  of  Illyria,  and  if  we 
only  had  more  resources  we  should  be  only  too  grateful 
for  the  chance.  I  hope  you  will  make  that  quite  clear 
to  the  Princess." 

Solemnly  enough  the  son-in-law  of  Ferdinand  the 
Twelfth  promised  that  this  should  be  done,  and  I  de- 
scended to  the  drawing-room  in  a  more  equable  frame 
of  mind.  I  was  able  to  eat  my  dinner  in  the  happy 
belief  that  my  inspiration  had  solved  an  acute  and 
oppressive  difficulty.  Emboldened  by  this  reflection 
and  sustained  by  a  sense  of  danger  overpast,  I  even 
went  to  the  length  of  attempting  to  pave  the  way  for 
the  reception  of  the  happy  solution. 

"By  the  way,"  I  ventured  to  announce  to  Mrs.  Ar- 
buthnot  at  the  other  end  of  the  table,  "Mr.  Fitzwaren 
has  suggested  that  perhaps  it  would  be  more  convenient 
for  Count  Zhygny  and  his  friend  the  Baron  if  Lord 
Brasset  entertained  them  at  the  Hall.  This  seems  a 
most  happy  suggestion,  and  I  am  quite  sure  that  Lord 
Brasset  will  consider  it  a  very  great  honour." 

Before  I  had  come  to  the  end  of  this  carefully 
phrased,  and,  as  I  hoped,  eminently  diplomatic  speech, 
a  silent  but  furious  signal  was  despatched  by  wireless 
telegraphy  across  the  whole  length  of  the  table.  A 


frown  of  portentous  dimension  clouded  the  brow  of 
Mrs.  Arbuthnot  as  she  turned  ruthlessly  to  the  picture 
of  amused  cynicism  who  sat  beside  her. 

"Really,  Mr.  Fitzwaren,"  said  she,  "that  is  nonsense. 
His  Maj — I  mean  to  say,  Count  Thingamy  has  ex- 
pressed a  gracious  desire  to  come  here,  and  of  course, 
as  I  have  no  need  to  say,  we  should  be  the  last  people 
in  the  world  not  to  respect  it.  We  shall  only  feel  too 
proud  and  honoured,  and  the  longer  he  stays  with  us 
the  more  proud  and  the  more  honoured  we  shall  feel." 

"Quite  so,  quite  so,"  said  I  hurriedly.  "Those  are 
exactly  my  views ;  that  goes  without  saying,  of  course. 
But  at  the  same  time,  Mr.  Fitzwaren  agrees  with  me 
that  the  accommodation  at  the  Hall  is  far  superior  to 
any  that  we  have  it  in  our  power  to  offer." 

"I  didn't  say  that  exactly,  old  son,"  Fitz  turned  the 
tail  of  an  amused  eye  upon  his  hostess.  "I  rather  think 
that  is  one  of  the  things  that  ought  to  be  expressed 
differently.  Rather  open  to  misconstruction,  as  the  old 
lady  said  when  something  went  wrong  with  the  airship." 

"Irene  quite  understands  what  I  mean,"  said  I  with 
the  valour  of  the  entirely  desperate.  "The  Hall,  don't 
you  know,  is  one  of  the  show  places  of  the  country — 
ceilings  by  Verrio,  and  so  on.  Then,  of  course,  Bras- 
set's  a  peer,  and  as  it  were,  marked  out  by  predestina- 
tion to  do  the  honours  to  Count  Zhygny." 

There  was  the  imperious  upraising  of  a  jeweled  paw, 
in  company  with  a  flash  of  eyes  across  the  rose-bowl  in 
the  centre  of  the  table.  I  was  reminded  of  the  lady  in 
Meredith  whose  aspect  spat. 

"Your  are  talking  sheer  nonsense,  Odo.    Your  father 


218  MRS.    FITZ 

is  coming  here,  isn't  he,  Sonia  dear  ?  It  is  all  arranged, 
and  there  will  be  heaps  of  room.  Lucinda  will  go  to 
Yorkshire  to  see  her  Granny ;  and  Jodey  can  go  to  the 
Coach  and  Horses ;  and  you,  Odo,  can  sleep  over  the 
stables,  and  I  am  sure  that  Mr.  Fitzwaren  won't  mind 
giving  up  the  nicest  bedroom  to  his  Maj — I  should  say, 
Count  von  Thingamy.  You  won't,  now  will  you,  Mr. 
Fitzwaren  ?" 

"I  am  yours  to  command,  Mrs.  Arbuthnot,"  said  Mr. 
Fitzwaren,  with  his  chin  pinned  down  to  the  front  of  his 
shirt,  and  gazing  straight  before  him  with  his  smiling 
but  sardonic  eye.  "And  if  there  is  anything  I  can  do 
to  add  to  the  comfort  of  the  Count,  I  need  hardly  say 
that  I  shall  be  most  happy." 

"There !"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot,  triumphantly.  "Not 
another  word,  please,  else  Sonia  will  think  we  don't  de- 
serve such  an  honour." 

Her  Royal  Highness  regaled  us  all  with  a  benevolent 
flash  of  her  wonderful  teeth. 

As  one  in  the  coils  of  fate,  I  had  to  submit  with  the 
best  grace  I  could  to  its  decree.  So  far  was  the  sharer 
of  my  joys  and  the  participator  in  my  sorrows  from 
viewing  the  prospect  of  the  royal  coming  with  disfavour, 
that  she  might  be  said  to  revel  in  it.  There  was  a  fire 
in  her  eye,  a  lightness  in  her  step ;  the  mere  thought  of 
the  glamour  that  was  so  soon  to  invest  her  household 
served  to  envelop  her  in  an  atmosphere  of  mental  and 
moral  elevation  that  can  only  be  described  as  lyrical. 

Later  in  the  evening  I  received  a  Caudle  lecture  upon 
my  absence  of  tact.  "What  posssessed  you,  Odo,  to 
talk  at  dinner  in  that  way!  I  don't  know  what  dear 


A  LITTLE  DIPLOMACY  219 

Sonia  must  have  felt,  I'm  sure.  One  would  really  think, 
to  hear  you,  that  we  positively  didn't  want  to  entertain 
the  King." 

"Let  us  assume,  mon  enfant"  said  the  desperate  I, 
"in  a  purely  academic  spirit,  that  almost  inconceivable 
hypothesis." 

"Really,  Odo,  there  are  times  when  you  seem  to  take 
a  pride  in  being  bourgeois ." 

"In  this  instance,  my  child,  the  indictment  justifies 
itself.  All  the  same,  we  are  what  we  are ;  it  is  hardly 
kind  to  hold  any  man  responsible  for  his  antecedents." 

"Don't  think  for  a  moment  that  I  blame  you  because 
your  grandfather  was  in  trade;  although,  of  course, 
trade  was  not  so  respectable  then  as  it  is  now.  Why 
I  blame  you,  Odo,  is  because  you  don't  always  make  the 
best  of  yourself.  That  was  almost  the  only  thing  dear- 
est Mama  had  against  you.  Now  for  the  love  of  good- 
ness, let  us  hear  no  more  about  the  King  going  to  the 
Hall  to  stay  with  Reggie  Brasset!" 


CHAPTER  XXI 
THE  EXPECTED  GUEST 

IN  THE  face  of  this  manifesto  by  the  powers,  there 
was  only  one  course  to  adopt.  That  course  was  sub- 
mission. Fitz,  while  professing  to  sympathise  with  my 
embarrassment,  was  too  cynical  to  help  me  much.  The 
hospitality  of  the  Hall  might  be  more  regal  in  its  char- 
acter, but  then,  if  the  august  visitor  came  to  us,  think 
what  a  snug  family  party  we  should  be ! 

The  King  was  due  at  Southampton  that  day  week, 
and  his  dutiful  son-in-law  proposed  to  meet  him  there. 
In  spite  of  his  casual  and  nonchalant  airs,  he  had  an 
inborn  instinct  for  behaving  well  on  great  occasions. 
Ferdinand  the  Twelfth  having  affirmed  his  determina- 
tion to  visit  our  shores,  it  seemed  to  Fitz  that  it  be- 
hooved all  concerned  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  business. 
It  was  a  sad  bore  that  he  should  have  decided  to  do  any 
such  thing,  but  at  the  same  time  it  might  prove  an 
amusing  and  possibly  an  instructive  experience  to  have 
the  victor  of  Rodova  dwelling  among  us  in  Middleshire. 

For  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  these  were  great  days.  Almost 
the  first  thing  she  did  was  to  borrow  an  under-footman 
from  Yorkshire.  She  also  provoked  a  state  of  anarchy 
in  the  kitchen  by  engaging  for  a  fortnight  a  cordon 

220 


THE  EXPECTED  GUEST 

bleu  lately  in  the  service  of  a  nobleman.  Our  much 
maligned  and  occasionally  inebriated  household  goddess 
was  fairly  good  for  plain  dishes,  but  certainly  not  for 
such  as  were  to  be  set  before  a  king.  Upon  inquiry 
of  his  daughter  as  to  what  dishes  would  make  the  best 
appeal  to  the  royal  palate,  the  Princess  was  fain  to 
declare  that  if  the  victor  of  Rodova  might  be  said  to 
have  a  weakness  for  anything  in  particular  it  was  for 
tomatoes. 

It  was  my  privilege  to  be  present  when,  one  morning 
at  breakfast,  the  mandate  was  issued  to  Joseph  Jocelyn 
De  Vere  that  for  the  time  being  it  was  necessary  that 
he  should  seek  other  quarters. 

"I  am  really  so  sorry,"  said  his  sister  in  a  birdlike 
voice,  "I  am  really  so  dreadfully  sorry.  But  what  can 
we  do?  Two  rather  important  members  of  the  Illyrian 
Cabinet  are  coming  from  Blaenau  to  see  dear  Sonia, 
and  of  course  it  is  only  right  that  we  should  put  them 
up." 

"That  is  what  all  that  talk  about  Count  This  and 
Baron  That  amounts  to,  is  it?"  said  the  young  fellow 
coolly.  "Well,  now,  Mops,  you  don't  suppose  I  am 
going  to  put  myself  to  the  trouble  of  clearin'  out  for 
a  couple  of  bally  foreigners,  do  you?  This  box  suits 
me  very  well,  and  the  'Coach  and  Horses'  is  quite  a 
second-rate  sort  of  pub." 

"You  can  have  your  meals  here,  of  course,  but  it 
would  hardly  be  right  to  send  foreigners  of  distinction 
to  the  village  inn." 

"Foreigners  of  distinction !  Why,  it  would  take  the 
King  himself  to  uproot  me." 


MRS.    FITZ 

Such  a  moment  was  too  much  for  Mrs.  Arbuthnot's 
dramatic  sense. 

"Well,  it  so  happens,"  said  she,  with  a  carefully  cal- 
culated unconcern,  "it  is  the  King  himself." 

Jodey  laid  down  his  coffee-cup. 

"Tell  that  to  the  marines !"  said  he. 

"If  you  don't  believe  me,  you  had  better  ask  Sonia. 
Of  course,  it  is  a  tremendous  secret.  The  visit  is  a 
strictly  private  one,  and  his  Majesty's  incognito  must 
be  rigidly  observed." 

"I  should  rather  think  so,"  said  the  sceptical  youth, 
"I  expect  Fitz  is  pulling  your  leg." 

"Oh,  no,  he  isn't,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot.  "Why 
should  he,  pray?  The  King  arrives  at  Southampton 
on  Thursday,  and  Nevil  will  meet  him  there.  His  Chan- 
cellor, Baron  von  Schalk,  accompanies  him,  and  they 
are  coming  straight  to  us." 

"If  it  don't  beat  cock-fightin' !" 

"It  is  really  quite  natural  that  the  dear  old  King 
should  wish  to  see  his  daughter,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot 
with  pensive  dignity. 

But  it  is  only  fair  to  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  to  say  that  her 
dramatic  announcement  had  wrought  sensibly  upon  her 
brother. 

"I  suppose  there  is  no  help  for  it,"  he  said  cheerfully. 
"I  expect  I  shall  have  to  clear  out.  But  I  daresay 
Brasset  will  find  me  a  crib  if  I  explain  how  it  is." 

"There  must  be  not  a  word  of  explanation  to  any- 
body," said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  with  an  official  air.  "Not 
a  soul  must  know  it  is  the  King." 

"Brasset  will  be  all  right.     He's  an  awfully  diplo- 


THE  EXPECTED  GUEST 

matic  beggar;  been  an  attachS  at  Paris,  and  so  on. 
You  can  trust  him  to  keep  a  secret." 

Mrs.  Arbuthnot  pondered.  The  gravity  of  her  mien 
was  enormous. 

"Well,  if  you  tell  Reggie  Br asset,  you  must  give  me 
your  word  of  honour  that  you  positively  won't  speak  of 
it  to  another  living  being.  Strictly  incog.,  you  know, 
and  if  it  got  out  there  might  be  serious  complications. 
Of  course  I  had  to  write  and  tell  Mama,  else  she  would 
never  have  let  me  have  Thomas.  Besides,  she  is  con- 
sulting Uncle  Harry  upon  one  or  two  points  of  eti- 
quette." 

"Oh,  is  she!  Evidently  going  to  be  a  devilish  well- 
kept  secret  this  is !" 

"I  should  think  it  was.  Why,  I  haven't  even  told 
Mary  Catesby,  yet  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to,  because 
she  is  frightfully  well  up  in  that  sort  of  thing." 

"If  you  don't  disdain  a  word  of  advice  from  a  lowly 
quarter,"  said  I  modestly,  "you  will  leave  Mary  Catesby 
out  of  your  calculations." 

My  only  guerdon  was  the  flash  of  an  imperious  china- 
blue  eye.  Other  reward  there  was  none. 

"Seems  to  me,"  said  Jodey,  "we  had  better  have 
Brasset  to  dine  with  us  pretty  often.  You  will  want 
somebody  to  talk  to  the  old  buffer.  I'm  not  much  of  a 
hand  at  conversation  myself." 

"No,  Joseph,"  I  ventured  to  remark,  "but  you  are 
good  and  brave  and  modest.  How  goes  the  ballad  that 
Irene  so  charmingly  discourses  ?  'Be  good,  sweet  child, 
and  let  who  will  be  clever.' ' 

I  desisted,  for  from  two  points   of  the  compass  a 


224  MRS.    FITZ 

double-distilled  Vane-Anstruther  gaze  was  trained  upon 
me.  My  relation  by  marriage  drank  his  coffee  and 
fished  out  a  vile  old  pipe,  and  lit  it  amid  the  most  mag- 
niloquent silence  to  which  I  have  ever  been  a  contributor. 

But  events  were  moving  apace.  The  passing  of  each 
day  brought  us  sensibly  nearer  the  all-important  event. 
With  advice  and  aid  from  her  Royal  Highness,  Mrs. 
Arbuthnot  proceeded  to  set  her  house  in  order  with  no 
uncertainty.  The  King  liked  a  room  with  a  south 
aspect,  it  appeared,  and  a  bath-room  leading  out  of  his 
dressing-room.  By  a  special  dispensation  of  providence 
these  things  happened  to  be  forthcoming.  Red  was 
the  predominant  hue  of  the  carpet  and  bed-hangings  in 
the  chamber  of  state.  The  picturesque  fancy  occurred 
to  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  that  purple  would  be  more  appro- 
priate. Her  Royal  Highness  thought  it  really  didn't 
matter,  but  Joseph  Jocelyn  De  Vere,  who  was  called 
in  to  arbitrate,  concurred  with  Mrs.  Arbuthnot.  The 
bill  from  Waring's  was  £65  12*.  9d.  less  five  per  cent, 
discount  for  cash. 

On  the  morning  of  Wednesday  a  paper  of  instruc- 
tions arrived  from  Uncle  Harry  via  Doughty  Bridge, 
Yorks.  It  seemed  to  attach  chief  significance  to  the 
wine,  which  should  be  of  the  best  quality  and  abundant 
in  quantity.  Deponent  adjured  his  niece  to  be  espe- 
cially careful  about  the  madeira,  as  all  the  royalties 
he  had  had  the  honour  to  meet  at  table  were  extremely 
partial  to  that  beverage.  "I  am  sending  a  case  of  ours 
in  the  care  of  Thomas,  unknown  to  your  father,"  was 
interspersed  in  the  form  of  a  note  in  the  maternal  hand. 
In  effect,  Uncle  Harry's  instructions  might  be  said  to 


THE  EXPECTED  GUEST  225 

resolve  themselves  into  as  much  madeira  and  as  little 
fuss  as  possible. 

Fitz  also  was  not  inactive.  He  had  accepted  the 
impending  visit  of  his  father-in-law,  wholly  distasteful 
to  him,  as  there  was  reason  to  believe  it  was,  in  quite 
the  temper  of  the  philosopher.  Since  the  King's  ene- 
mies were  so  rife  in  our  part  of  the  world,  the  first 
thing  he  did  was  to  take  the  Chief  Constable  into  his 
confidence.  He  then  went  up  to  town,  spent  two  hours 
in  Whitehall  at  the  feet  of  more  than  one  Gamaliel, 
called  upon  the  General  Manager  of  the  Great  Mid- 
Western  Railway  and  arranged  for  a  special  train  to 
be  run  through  from  Southampton  to  Middleham,  and 
rounded  up  his  day  with  the  purchase  of  a  new  silk  hat 
at  Scott's. 

The  historic  Thursday  came  at  last,  and  shortly  after 
seven  a.  m.  Mr.  Nevil  Fitzwaren  set  forth  to  South- 
ampton, arrayed  in  a  very  smart  Newmarket  coat,  pat- 
ent leather  boots  and  his  new  silk  hat.  Even  when  I 
had  witnessed  his  setting  out  in  the  full  panoply  of 
war,  I  could  hardly  realise  that  we  were  on  the  threshold 
of  so  high  an  occasion.  I  hope  I  do  not  attach  an 
undue  importance  to  the  kings  of  the  earth.  But  even 
an  insignificant  unit  of  a  constitutional  country,  with 
perhaps  something  of  a  slight  personal  bias  in  the  direc- 
tion of  democracy,  could  not  allay  a  thrill  of  lively 
anticipation  of  what  the  day  would  bring  forth. 

According  to  the  journals  of  the  age,  Ferdinand  the 
Twelfth  stood  for  an  advanced  type  of  despot.  His 
word  was  law  in  Illyria.  I  spent  half  my  morning  in 
the  hunting  up  and  perusal  of  a  recent  number  of  one 


226  MRS.    FITZ 

of  the  magazines,  in  which  appeared  a  character  study 
of  this  famous  man  by  one  who  claimed  to  know  him 
intimately.  Therein  he  figured  as  a  benevolent  reac- 
tionary ;  as  one  who  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  term 
believed  himself  to  be  the  father  of  his  people.  He  dis- 
pensed justice  alike  to  the  rich  and  the  poor;  but 
whether  he  was  right  or  whether  he  was  wrong,  he 
allowed  no  appeal  from  his  verdicts. 

In  the  opinion  of  the  writer  of  the  article,  the  King 
of  Illyria  was  one  of  the  strongest  men  of  his  epoch. 
Poised  as  had  been  all  his  life  on  the  crater  of  a  vol- 
cano, which  issued  continual  threats  of  eruption,  he  had 
abated  no  point  of  his  public  or  domestic  policy  in 
response  to  the  rumblings  below.  He  believed  himself 
to  possess  an  infallible  knowledge  of  that  which  was 
good  for  his  people,  and  he  was  prone  to  dispense  his 
universal  panacea  in  liberal  doses.  Yet  he  differed  fun- 
damentally from  other  potentates  of  a  similar  faith,  as, 
for  instance,  his  Russian  nephew  and  his  Turkish  and 
Persian  contemporaries,  inasmuch  that  he  had  faith  in 
the  essential  virtue  of  his  subjects. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  modern  distemper  of 
anarchy  had  infected  his  kingdom,  and  had  led  to  three 
cowardly  attempts  on  his  life,  Ferdinand  the  Twelfth 
had  furnished  a  convincing  proof  of  his  strength  of 
character  by  declining  to  saddle  his  people  with  the 
responsibility  of  what  he  chose  to  consider  as  isolated 
acts  of  fanaticism.  From  the  earliest  times  any  in- 
dividual or  body  of  freemen  of  the  Kingdom  of  Illyria 
had  enjoyed  the  right  of  personal  access  to  their 
sovereign.  He  was  ready  to  give  them  advice  in  the 


THE  EXPECTED  GUEST  227 

most  commonplace  affairs.  In  many  ways  he  was  more 
like  an  enlightened  friend  and  neighbour  of  liberal 
views  than  a  despotic  ruler  whose  word  was  law.  It 
was  said  that  he  would  advise  a  working-man  about 
the  choice  of  a  calling  for  his  son,  or  he  would  fix  the 
amount  of  a  daughter's  dowry.  "To  take  the  King's 
opinion"  had  become  a  proverbial  phrase  throughout 
the  land ;  and  it  was  said  that  in  the  case  of  two  farm- 
ers haggling  over  the  price  of  a  horse  that  whenever 
the  phrase  was  used  it  received  a  literal  interpretation. 

The  consequence  of  this  accessibility  was  an  abund- 
ant popularity  among  all  classes  in  the  state.  In  liv- 
ing up  to  the  letter  of  the  truly  royal  tradition  that 
every  Illyrian  enjoyed  the  King's  friendship,  he  had 
conserved  his  power,  and  in  spite  of  many  a  sinister 
growl  in  consequence  of  severe  taxation  and  many  flag- 
rant abuses  of  authority,  the  volcano  had  remained  in- 
active throughout  a  long  and  not  inglorious  reign.  His 
campaign  in  the  sixties  against  the  might  of  Austria, 
culminating  in  the  historic  day  of  Rodova,  had  been  a 
wonder  for  wise  men,  and  had  only  been  rendered  pos- 
sible by  the  almost  superstitious  faith  of  all  classes  of 
a  comparatively  small  community. 

In  his  final  survey  of  the  character  and  attainments 
of  one  of  the  most  significant  figures  of  the  age,  the 
writer  of  the  article  indulged  in  the  prophecy  that  with 
Ferdinand  the  Twelfth  a  symbol  of  true  kingship  would 
pass  away.  The  forces  of  modernism  were  too  strong 
in  Illyria,  as  elsewhere  in  Europe,  to  be  held  longer  at 
bay.  It  was  only  by  a  miracle  that  the  doors  of  the 
historic  castle  at  Blaenau  had  been  barred  against  them 


228  MRS.    FITZ 

so  long.  Only  an  extraordinary  personal  power  and 
an  unflinching  strength  of  will  had  kept  them  unforced. 
For  none  could  deny  that  the  sublime  example  of  trust- 
ing all  men  and  fearing  none  had  gone  hand  in  hand 
with  the  gravest  abuses ;  yet,  whatever  was  their  nature, 
it  could  at  least  be  said  that  they  owed  their  origin  to 
no  ignoble  source.  A  king  in  every  true  essential,  Fer- 
dinand the  Twelfth  had  the  defects  of  his  qualities. 
The  standard  of  well  being  in  Illyria  was  high,  but  it 
was  by  no  means  widely  dispersed.  As  is  the  case  within 
the  borders  of  all  despotisms,  the  rich  were  the  rich  and 
the  poor  were  the  poor  in  Illyria.  In  many  respects  the 
condition  of  the  people  recalled  that  of  France  before 
the  Revolution ;  and  it  would  be  a  source  of  surprise  to 
none  who  were  in  a  position  to  observe  the  present  situa- 
tion if,  at  the  eleventh  hour,  the  fate  of  Louis  XVI 
overtook  this  present  uncommonly  able  and  uncommonly 
misguided  ruler. 

By  the  light  of  what  this  day  was  to  bring  forth, 
I  made  an  anxious  study  of  this  document.  If  I  can- 
not say  that  I  derived  reassurance  from  it,  at  least  it 
did  nothing  to  diminish  my  curiosity.  It  was  to  be  our 
privilege  to  entertain  a  type  of  true  kingliness  under 
our  roof.  If  one  of  those  culinary  disasters  occurred 
to  which  even  the  best  regulated  households  are  suscep- 
tible, and  we  were  constrained  to  offer  burnt  soup  or  an 
underdone  cutlet  to  the  father  of  his  people,  it  was  to 
be  hoped  that  his  trembling  host  and  hostess  would  not 
have  to  forfeit  their  heads. 

As  far  as  the  King's  daughter  was  concerned,  it  had 
seemed  to  us  that  the  announcement  of  his  coming  had 


THE  EXPECTED  GUEST 

brought  unhappiness.  Her  alert,  half  humorous,  half 
malicious  interest  in  everything  around  her  which  made 
her  charm,  had  seemed  to  give  place  to  the  brooding 
preoccupation  of  one  who  felt  a  deep  distrust  of  com- 
ing events.  In  particular  I  thought  this  was  shown  in 
her  relation  to  her  small  daughter. 

Prior  to  the  receipt  of  the  King's  letter,  Mrs.  Fitz 
had  shown  no  undue  devotion  to  this  piece  of  mischief 
incarnate  who  answered  to  the  name  of  Marie,  who 
defied  her  governess,  bullied  the  servants  and  the  domes- 
tic pets,  and  who  fiercely  contended  in  season  and  out 
with  Miss  Lucinda,  a  milder  and  more  legitimate  house- 
hold despot.  But  by  the  time  we  had  come  to  this  his- 
toric Thursday,  it  was  as  though  her  mother  could  not 
bear  this  elf  out  of  her  sight.  It  was,  of  course,  natural 
that  she  should  ardently  wish  that  Marie  should  behave 
nicely  to  her  Grandpapa,  but  there  was  something  al- 
most tragic  in  this  new  anxiety  concerning  her.  There 
could  be  no  doubt  its  root  struck  deep. 

To  those  who  understood  her  ways  and  moods,  it 
was  clear  that  something  weighed  upon  her  heavily.  It 
was  even  in  the  expression  of  her  face;  there  was  a 
strange  decline  of  her  vivacity,  and  a  slackening  of 
interest  in  the  things  around  her.  By  the  time  Thurs- 
day came  she  seemed  most  unhappy. 

The  Crackanthorpe  had  no  fixture  for  that  day,  and 
in  the  light  of  after  events,  perhaps,  it  had  been  well 
if  they  had.  All  the  morning  she  was  curiously  silent 
and  distraite.  She  divided  more  of  her  time  between 
the  stables  and  the  society  of  her  horses  and  the  nursery 
and  the  society  of  her  singularly  wilful  and  intractable 


230  MRS.    FITZ 

daughter.  At  luncheon  she  refused  every  dish,  con- 
tenting herself  with  a  glass  of  water  and  a  piece  of  dry 
toast.  Not  a  word  did  she  speak  until  near  the  end  of 
the  meal,  when  quite  suddenly  she  clasped  her  hands  to 
her  head,  and  exclaimed  in  a  deep  guttural  voice,  hardly 
recognisable  as  her  own. 

"I  t'inklwillgomad!" 

There  was  something  indescribably  tragic  in  the  ex- 
clamation. I  rose  and  withdrew  from  the  room,  and 
made  a  sign  to  the  servants  to  follow.  Mrs.  Arbuthnot 
was  left  alone  with  the  unhappy  lady,  and  as  I  went  out 
I  remarked  to  her  that  I  was  going  into  the  library. 

About  ten  minutes  afterwards,  Irene  came  to  me 
there.  She  was  looking  pale  and  anxious  and  not  a 
little  alarmed. 

"She  is  suffering  dreadfully,  poor  thing,"  she  said, 
not  without  a  suspicion  of  tears.  "She  is  almost  out 
of  her  reason,  and  she  is  making  a  frantic  effort  to 
control  herself." 

"Can  you  gather  what  the  trouble  is?" 

"She  has  a  terrible  fear  of  something.  What  it  is 
I  don't  know.  She  keeps  talking  in  Illyrian." 

"Is  it  her  father's  coming?" 

"Yes,  it  has  upset  her  dreadfully." 

"Is  she  afraid  of  him?" 

"Yes,  pathetically  afraid.  But  there  is  also  some- 
thing else  she  fears." 

"I  suppose  she  is  thinking  of  her  husband  and  her 
child?" 

"Yes,  poor  soul !    How  I  wish  we  could  help  her !" 

"It  is  not  easy  to  help  the  children  of  destiny." 


THE  EXPECTED  GUEST  231 

"Never  until  now  have  I  realised  what  a  dreadful 
life  it  is  these  people  lead.  She  is  suffering  terribly. 
Do  you  know  of  anybody  who  understands  the  stars?" 

"The  stars !" 

"Yes,  she  says  she  wants  to  know  what  the  stars  are 
doing.  It  is  ridiculous  superstition,  of  course,  and  I 
told  her  so.  But  she  shook  her  head  in  the  oddest  way, 
and  she  looked  so  tragic  and  unhappy  that  she  nearly 
made  me  cry." 

"Isn't  there  an  astrologer  in  Bond  Street?  But  it's 
a  hundred  to  one  he's  a  charlatan." 

"They  all  are,  of  course." 

"The  Princess  doesn't  appear  to  think  so.  And  there 
is  my  cracked  old  Uncle  Theodore  who  lives  in  Bryans- 
ton  Square.  He  is  supposed  to  be  no  end  of  an  author- 
ity upon  the  stars." 

"Well,  it  is  utterly  ridiculous,  but  I  am  afraid  noth- 
ing can  be  done  with  her  until  she  has  consulted  some- 
body. Give  her  your  Uncle  Theodore's  address  and  let 
her  catch  the  2.20  to  town,  and  she  will  be  back  before 
the  King  comes." 

"She  can't  go  alone.  In  her  present  state  of  mind 
somebody  must  be  with  her.  Can't  you  persuade  her  to 
wait  until  she  has  seen  her  father?" 

"She  is  suffering  so  much  that  it  would  be  a  mercy  to 
relieve  the  strain  in  any  way." 

"Very  well,  I  will  take  her  to  see  old  Theodore.  I 
will  send  him  a  wire  to  tell  him  that  a  lady  is  coming  to 
consult  him  about  the  stars ;  and  also  I  had  better  tele- 
phone to  Coverdale  to  let  him  know  what's  happening. 
It  is  hardly  wise  to  go  to  London  without  an  escort. 


232  MRS.    FITZ 

Then  there  is  the  monarch  to  be  arranged  for.  But 
Fitz  will  wire  the  authorities  direct  from  Southampton 
the  approximate  time  of  his  arrival." 

Luckily  Coverdale  was  at  the  Sessions  Hall.  But 
when  I  informed  him  of  the  Princess's  sudden  deter- 
mination to  go  to  town  by  the  2.20  he  very  nearly  fused 
the  wires.  How  the  blank  did  she  suppose  that  with  her 
blank  father  due  at  Middleham  at  6.50  the  Middleshire 
Constabulary  could  arrange  for  her  to  go  gallivanting 
to  the  blank  metropolis  that  blank  afternoon?  With- 
out venturing  in  any  way  to  enlighten  the  official 
nescience  or  to  mitigate  its  temperature,  I  attempted 
with  infinite  tact  and  patience  to  explain,  yet  withhold- 
ing all  references  to  the  stars  as  I  did  so,  that  in  the 
circumstances  there  was  no  help  for  it.  This  being  a 
matter  upon  which  the  Princess  had  fully  made  up  her 
mind,  it  behooved  the  Middleshire  Constabulary  to  defer 
to  her  wishes  with  the  best  possible  grace. 

"Well,  my  friend,"  said  the  Chief  Constable,  "let  me 
tell  you,  you  are  running  a  devil  of  a  risk.  But  I  shall 
communicate  with  Scotland  Yard,  and  ask  them  to  look 
after  you.  Still,  as  the  King  arrives  this  evening,  the 
four  men  you  have  with  you  had  better  remain  on  duty 
at  the  house.  And,"  concluded  the  head  of  the  Middle- 
shire Constabulary,  "I  would  to  God  the  whole  blank, 
blank  crowd !!" 

A  married  man,  a  father  of  a  family,  and  a  county 
member  somewhat  hurriedly  replaced  the  receiver. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A  VISIT  TO  BRYANSTON  SQUARE 

UNWILLINGLY  enough,  I  set  out  with  our  guest  to 
consult  my  Uncle  Theodore.  Assuredly  it  was  a  scheme 
in  which  commonsense,  in  the  general  acceptation  of 
that  elusive  quality,  had  no  part.  Yet,  however  pre- 
posterous the  proceeding,  it  was  an  act  of  common 
humanity  to  take  even  an  extravagant  measure  for  the 
relief  of  such  an  acute  suffering.  It  was  impossible  not 
to  pity  the  unhappy  creature.  Her  eyes  were  wild  and 
her  appearance  had  been  transformed  into  that  of  a 
hunted  animal. 

On  the  way  up  to  town  we  were  fortunate  enough  to 
secure  a  carriage  to  ourselves.  Throughout  the  jour- 
ney my  companion  hardly  addressed  a  word  to  me,  but 
she  continued  to  betray  many  tokens  of  mental  anguish. 
The  train  was  punctual,  and  by  a  few  minutes  after 
four  o'clock  we  were  in  Bryanston  Square. 

It  is  only  once  in  a  lustrum  that  I  visit  my  Uncle 
Theodore.  He  is  rich,  a  bachelor,  and  in  the  family  is  re- 
garded as  an  incorrigible  crank.  The  champion  of  lost 
causes,  a  poet,  a  radical,  a  practitioner  of  the  occult, 
a  scorner  of  convention,  and  a  robust  hater  of  many 
things,  including  all  that  relates  to  the  merely  expedient, 
the  utilitarian  and  the  material,  he  is  looked  upon  as  a 

233 


234  MRS.    FITZ 

dangerous  heretic  who  might  be  more  esteemed  if  he 
belonged  to  a  less  eminently  responsible  clan. 

Howbeit,  I  confess  that  I  never  visit  my  Uncle  Theo- 
dore without  feeling  constrained  to  pay  a  kind  of  invol- 
untary homage  to  his  personality.  He  has  a  way  with 
him ;  there  is  something  about  him  which  is  the  absolute 
negation  of  the  commonplace.  He  is  tall  and  extraor- 
dinarily frail,  with  a  picturesque  mop  of  orange-col- 
oured hair,  and  a  pair  of  large  round  eyes  of  remark- 
able luminosity,  which  seem  like  twin  moons  of  liquid 
light. 

It  was  our  good  fortune  to  find  this  bravo  at  home 
and  in  receipt  of  my  telegram.  I  left  my  companion  in 
another  room  while  I  went  forth  and  bearded  the  lion 
in  his  den.  Dressed  in  a  velvet  jacket,  a  red  tie  and  a 
pair  of  beaded  Oriental  slippers  he  was  in  the  act  of 
composition,  and  was  writing  very  slowly  with  a  feath- 
ered quill  upon  a  sheet  of  unruled  foolscap. 

"I  am  writing  a  letter  to  the  time-serving  rag  that 
disgraces  us,"  he  said  with  a  kind  of  languid  vehemence 
"and  the  time-serving  rag  won't  print  it,  but  I  shall 
keep  a  copy  and  publish  it  in  a  pamphlet  at  the  price  of 
threepence." 

"Then  put  me  down  for  four  copies,"  said  I.  "You 
know  I  always  regard  you  as  one  of  the  few  living 
masters  of  the  King's  English." 

"The  King's  English!  The  King,  my  boy,  has  no 
English.  He  has  less  English  than  the  average  self- 
respecting  costermonger." 

"The  well  of  English  undefiled,  then." 

"That  is  better.    You  are  perfectly  right.     It  is  my 


A  VISIT  TO  BRYANSTON  SQUARE      235 

firm  conviction  that  my  prose  is  quite  equal  to  my 
poetry,  and  yet  these  dunces  persist  in  saying  that  we 
poets  can't  write  prose.  Swinburne  couldn't,  it's  true, 
and  with  tears  in  my  eyes  I  used  to  beseech  him  to  give 
up  trying.  But  he  was  an  obstinate  little  fellow.  Mil- 
ton couldn't,  either.  But  Goethe  now,  Goethe  could 
write  prose  as  well  as  I  can  myself,  and  so  could  Words- 
worth if  he  had  liked,  and  so  could  Shelley.  As  for  that 
yokel  from  Stratford-on-Avon,  if  there  is  anybody  who 
dares  to  say  he  couldn't  write  prose,  I  should  like  to 
have  the  pleasure  of  contradicting  him." 

"I  think,"  said  I,  "you  will  be  among  the  prose- 
writers  after  your  death.  If  I  survive  you,  I  shall  hope 
to  prepare  a  collected  edition  of  the  letters  you  have 
had  rejected  by  the  newspapers." 

"That's  a  bargain,  my  boy.  I  will  select  them  for 
you.  It  will  be  a  nice  little  legacy  to  leave  to  posterity. 
A  hundred  years  hence  they  will  speak  of  me  as  the 
British  Lucian  who  opened  the  stinking  casements  of 
a  putrid  age  and  let  in  God's  honest  sunlight.  What 
a  time  we  live  in,  and  what  a  poisonous  crew  inhabits 
it !  Why,  do  you  know,  my  boy,  we  have  less  real  free- 
dom in  this  country  than  they  have  in  Illyria." 

The  totally  unexpected  mention  of  the  blessed  word 
Illyria  startled  me  considerably.  That  sinister  king- 
dom was  evidently  in  the  air. 

"You  are  right,  Theodore,"  said  I.     "The  stinking 

casements  of  a  putrid  age — that  is  a  phrase  I  shall 

remember  when  next  I  am  at  the  point  of  asphyxiation 

upon  the  green  benches  of  the  Mother  of  Parliaments." 

"What  a  football-kicking,  boat-tugging,  gymnasium- 


236  MRS.    FITZ 

bred  crew  they  must  be  to  stand  such  an  atmosphere 
day  after  day,  night  after  night!  I  shouldn't  have 
thought  that  a  really  polite  man  could  have  existed  in  it 
for  three  days.  I  wonder  what  Edmund  Burke  thinks 
of  the  place  when  he  enters  it  now." 

A  rough  working  knowledge  of  the  subject  with 
which  I  had  to  cope  rendered  it  imperative  that  I  should 
make  a  determined  effort  to  lay  hold  of  his  head  before 
he  took  charge  of  me  altogether. 

"Theodore,"  said  I,  "I  am  not  here  to  yield  to  the 
delight  of  your  conversation,  much  as  I  yearn  to  do  so. 
I  have  brought  a  lady  with  me  who  desires  to  consult 
you  about  the  stars." 

He  seemed  to  laugh  a  deep,  hollow  laugh  out  of  the 
depths  of  himself,  much  as  an  ogre  might  be  expected 
to  do. 

"Vain  superstition !"  he  guffawed,  as  he  stretched  out 
his  long  tenuous  hands.  "O  ye  upper-middle  class 
British  Pharisees,  that  ye  should  condescend !  Who  is 
this  weak  vessel  that  would  consult  the  stars?  Not,  I 
trow  and  trust,  a  daughter  of  the  late  Sir  John  Stub- 
berfield,  Bart.?" 

"The  late  Sir  John  Stubberfield,  Bart.,"  was  a  symbol 
erected  permanently  in  his  mind,  with  which  he  toyed 
when  he  was  moved  to  exercise  his  fancy  at  the  expense 
of  his  countrymen. 

"Not  a  daughter  of  Sir  John,"  I  assured  him.  "An 
even  more  potent  personage." 

"Impossible,  my  boy !  A  veritable  daughter  of  Sir 
John  stands  at  the  apex  of  human  endeavour.  She  is 
the  crown  of  social,  political  and  philosophical  beati- 


A  VISIT  TO  BRYAN STON  SQUARE      237 

tude.  Do  you  forget  that  it  was  a  daughter  of  Sir 
John  Stubberfield,  Bart.,  who  married  a  Prosser?  Do 
you  forget  it  was  a  daughter  of  Sir  John  Stubberfield, 
Bart.,  who  had  issue  an  heir  male,  a  little  Prosser?" 

"Peace,  peace,  my  good  Theodore.  You  have  a  bare 
half -hour  in  which  to  read  the  stars  in  their  courses  for 
a  fair  unknown.  And  I  beg  that  you  will  treat  her 
tenderly,  for  she  is  a  brave  woman  and  an  unhappy." 

"Aha!"  The  Ogre — the  name  he  was  known  by  in 
the  family — sighed  a  romantic  sympathy.  Jt  may  seem 
out  of  harmony  with  the  terms  in  which  I  have  endeav- 
oured to  render  the  personality  of  this  Berserk,  but  he 
had  an  almost  quixotic  development  of  the  sense  of 
chivalry.  Nothing  so  greatly  delighted  this  champion 
of  lost  causes  as  to  succour  those  who  were  in  distress. 

"Produce  the  languishing  vestal,  so  that  the  arts  of 
the  necromancer  may  sustain  her.  But  stay,  my  boy; 
before  we  go  further,  may  I  suggest  that  you  conform 
to  the  conventional  practice  of  confiding  the  name  she 
goes  by  among  men?" 

"Certainly.     Her  name  is  Mrs.  Nevil  Fitzwaren." 

"Aha!"  The  Ogre  swung  half  round  in  his  writing 
chair  to  confront  me.  He  seemed  like  a  satyr,  and  the 
twin  moons  that  were  his  eyes  began  to  magnetise  me 
with  their  uncanny  effulgence.  "A  woman  about  thirty, 
of  foreign  extraction?" 

"Ye— es." 

"Married  an  English  squire  about  five  years  ago?" 

"How  the  deuce  do  you  know  that  ?"  said  I  in  amaze- 
ment. 


238  MRS.    FITZ 

Again  the  look  of  the  satyr  seemed  to  transfigure 
him. 

"What,  pray,  is  the  use  of  being  a  soothsayer  with- 
out one  is  permitted  to  dabble  a  little  in  the  black 
arts?" 

"Theodore,  my  friend,"  said  I  with  a  somewhat  dis- 
concerted laugh,  "I  am  inclined  to  think  you  must  be 
the  Devil." 

"Perchance,  my  dear  boy,  perchance."  The  Ogre 
placed  the  tips  of  his  fingers  together  in  a  way  he  had. 
"May  it  interest  you  to  know  that  the  Devil  is  a  more 
potent  figure  in  the  public  life  of  our  little  day  than 
our  German  friends  allow  for.  Never  despise  the  Devil, 
and  never  mention  him  lightly  in  any  company,  for  he 
is  always  looking  at  you." 

The  twin  moons  were  enfolding  me  with  a  refulgence 
that  in  the  dim  January  twilight  was  so  uncanny  that, 
had  I  been  other  than  of  a  fairly  robust  materialistic 
texture,  I  might  have  felt  a  kind  of  horror. 

"It  is  very  interesting  that  your  friend  Mrs.  Fitz- 
waren — black  hair,  olive  complexion,  remarkable  ap- 
pearance, a  type  you  can't  place — should  come  to  me 
like  this.  The  fact  is,  my  dear  boy,  things  are  not 
always  what  they  seem.  Judging  by  the  recent  behav- 
iour of  one  or  two  rather  important  planetary  bodies, 
and  of  the  new  body  of  which  our  observant  French 
friends  have  lately  learned  to  take  cognisance,  the  visit 
of  your  friend  Mrs.  Nevil  Fitzwaren  to  your  cracked 
Uncle  Theodore  at  his  local  habitation  in  Bryanston 
Square  may  have  some  kind  of  a  bearing  on  the  destiny 
of  nations.  How  say  you?" 


A  VISIT  TO  BRYANSTON  SQUARE      239 

"My  dear  Theodore,"  I  expostulated,  from  motives 
of  policy,  "my  dear  Theodore,  you  really  are,  'pon  my 
word  you  really  are — 

All  the  same,  it  was  with  a  singular  complexity  of 
emotion  that  I  went  forth  to  lead  this  prophet  and 
soothsayer  into  the  presence  of  the  Crown  Princess  of 
Illyria. 

It  struck  me  as  I  preceded  my  carpet-slippered  rela- 
tion into  the  great  bare  room  that  the  unhappy  lady 
was  looking  more  distinguished  and  more  distraught 
than  ever.  Had  I  had  a  merely  superficial  acquaintance 
with  our  family  Berserk  I  must  have  had  qualms  as  to 
the  mode  of  his  reception  of  his  visitor.  In  uncongenial 
company  he  could  be  a  positive  Boeotian  savage,  but, 
again,  if  it  pleased  him,  he  could  display  an  ease  and 
a  sympathetic  charm  of  bearing  which  was  wholly  de- 
lightful to  those  who  had  the  good  fortune  to  call  it 
forth. 

As  he  came  shambling  in  with  his  flaming  tie,  his 
mop  of  orange-coloured  hair,  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
and  his  heels  half  out  of  his  slippers,  would  it  please 
him  to  be  the  polished  and  gracious  courtier,  or  the  wild 
Boeotian  savage? 

His  visitor  rose  to  receive  him  and  a  grave  bow  was 
exchanged.  And  for  the  first  time  in  my  knowledge  of 
her  Mrs.  Fitz  seemed  at  a  loss  for  speech.  Small  won- 
der was  it,  for  this  gaunt,  lean  presence  with  the  faun- 
like  smile  and  the  still,  full,  luminous  gaze,  seemed  to 
hold  the  key  to  realms  of  infinite  mystery  and  power. 

"If  you  will  come  to  my  room,  we  can  talk,"  he  said 
quite  gently. 


240  MRS.    FITZ 

As  he  was  about  to  lead  the  way,  he  half  turned 
and  leered  at  me  ogre-like  over  his  shoulder  with  his 
peculiarly  significant  malice. 

"Tell  Peacock  to  give  you  the  Sporting  Times  and  a 
cigar  and  a  whiskey-and-soda,  my  dear  boy,"  he  said. 

"Thanks,"  said  I,  "but  I  am  afraid  you  cannot  be 
allowed  more  than  twenty  minutes  for  your  interview. 
It  is  imperative  that  Mrs.  Fitzwaren  should  catch  the 
5.28  from  the  Grand  Central." 

"The  5.28  from  the  Grand  Central."  He  repeated 
the  words  as  though  an  importance  was  attached  to 
them  that  they  had  no  reason  to  claim.  Then  he  added 
musingly,  "I  am  not  so  clear  as  I  should  like  to  be  that 
you  will  be  wise  to  catch  it.  It  would  be  better,  I  think, 
if  Mrs.  Fitzwaren  could  arrange  to  travel  to-morrow." 

"Impossible,  my  dear  Theodore.  Mrs.  Fitzwaren  is 
staying  with  us,  and  we  must  certainly  be  back  to 
dinner." 

The  Princess  nodded  her  concurrence. 

"Well,  well,  if  you  really  must.  And  perhaps  I  ex- 
ceed my  prerogative." 

The  singular  creature  proceeded  to  lead  the  way  to 
his  study.  I  was  left  to  meditate  alone  for  twenty  min- 
utes upon  this  latest  expression  of  his  personality. 
Never  before  had  I  realised  so  fully  that  he  was  the 
possessor  of  gifts  the  nature  of  which  was  as  a  sealed 
book  to  the  common  mortal.  There  had  been  occasions 
when  we  "in  the  family"  had  been  tempted  to  believe 
that  there  was  a  strong  infusion  of  the  charlatan  in 
his  pretension  to  occult  knowledge.  A  prophet  is  not 
without  honour  save  in  his  own  country. 


A  VISIT  TO  BRYANSTON  SQUARE 

But  as  I  sat  this  January  evening  in  his  house  in 
Bryanston  Square,  I  realised  more  fully  than  I  had 
ever  done  before  that  the  last  word  has  yet  to  be  uttered 
in  regard  to  the  things  around  us.  It  was  as  though 
all  at  once  my  cranky  relation  in  his  carpet  slippers, 
his  velvet  coat  and  his  red  tie  had  brought  me  into  a 
more  intimate  contact  with  the  Unseen. 

Somehow,  and  for  no  specific  reason  that  I  was  able 
to  discover,  my  unruly  nerves  began  to  tick  like  a  clock. 
The  temperature  of  the  room  was  not  high,  but  a 
perspiration  broke  out  all  over  me.  A  full  five  minutes 
I  sat  in  the  silence  of  the  gathering  darkness  not  quite 
knowing  what  to  do  and  not  caring  particularly.  It 
was  as  though  the  enervating  atmosphere  of  my  uncle's 
nearness  had  taken  from  me  the  power  of  volition. 

It  never  occurred  to  me  to  ring  the  bell,  and  yet  I 
had  merely  to  press  the  button  at  my  elbow.  Neverthe- 
less, when  a  servant  entered  with  a  lamp  it  was  a  real 
relief. 

"Hullo,  Peacock!"  said  I,  issuing  with  a  little  shiver 
from  my  reverie. 

Somehow  it  seemed  that  that  retainer,  trusted, 
elderly,  responsible,  looked  singularly  pale  and  meagre 
in  the  lamplight. 

"Are  you  very  well,  Peacock?" 

"Thank  you,  sir,  not  very."  The  old  servant  sighed 
heavily. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?" 

The  old  fellow  proceeded  to  draw  the  curtains  and 
then  turned  to  face  me  with  a  kind  of  nervous  defiance. 

"Fact  is,  Mr.  Odo,"  he  said,  "this  place  is  getting 


242  MRS.    FITZ 

too  much  for  me.  I  am  afraid  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  go 
on  much  longer.  Fact  is,  Mr.  Odo" — the  old  man  low- 
ered his  voice  to  a  whisper  of  painful  solemnity — "it  is 
contrary  to  the  will  of  God." 

"What  is  contrary  to  the  will  of  God?" 

"The  goings  on,  sir,  of  Mr.  Theodore.  My  private 
opinion  is — and  I  say  to  you,  Mr.  Odo,  what  I  wouldn't 
say  to  another — "  The  voice  of  the  old  fellow  grew 
lower  and  lower — "that  Mr.  Theodore  is  getting  to 
know  a  bit  more  than  any  man  ought  to;  in  fact,  sir, 
more  than  the  Almighty  intended  any  man  should." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Peacock?  You  are  not  grow- 
ing superstitious  in  your  old  age,  are  you?" 

I  strove  to  speak  in  a  light  tone.  But  in  my  own  ears 
my  voice  sounded  curiously  high  and  thin. 

"I  mean  this,  sir.  The  line  ought  to  be  drawn  some- 
where. And  Mr.  Theodore  doesn't  know  where  to  draw 
it.  The  people  he  has  here,  sir,  it's — well,  it's  appal- 
ling !  Clairvoyants,  mediums,  mahatmas,  Indian  fakirs, 
table-turners,  spirit-rappers  and  I  can't  say  what. 
Communion  with  spirits  is  all  very  well,  sir,  but  it  is 
contrary  to  the  will  of  God.  The  Almighty  never  in- 
tended, sir,  that  we  should  pry  into  all  the  secrets  of 
existence." 

"How  do  you  know  that,  Peacock?" 

"I  know  by  this,  sir."  The  old  fellow  tapped  the 
centre  of  his  forehead  solemnly.  "The  thing  that  lies 
behind  this." 

To  my  surprise  the  old  servant  wrung  his  hands  and 
burst  into  tears. 

"It  can't  go  on,  sir — at  least,  as  far  as  I  am  con- 


cerned.  Either  Mr.  Theodore  will  have  to  mend  his 
ways  or  I  shall  have  to  leave  him.  I  have  been  a  long 
time  with  Mr.  Theodore  and  of  course  I  was  with  his 
father  before  him,  and  I  daresay  I  am  getting  old,  but 
do  you  know  what  we  have  got  in  the  attic,  sir?" 

"What  have  you  got  in  the  attic,  Peacock?" 

"An  Egyptian  mummy,  sir.  It  is  several  thousand 
years  old,  and  I  am  convinced  that  a  curse  is  on  it. 
I  wouldn't  enter  that  attic,  sir,  not  me,  not  for  all  the 
wealth  of  the  Rothschilds." 

"I  was  not  aware  that  you  were  superstitious,  Pea- 
cock," said  I  with  a  very  ineffectual  assumption  of  the 
formal  tone  of  the  married  man,  the  father  of  the  fam- 
ily and  the  county  member. 

"It  is  not  superstition,  sir,  but  I  know  what  I  know. 
That  mummy  has  got  to  leave  this  house,  or  I  shall 
leave  it." 

"Is  that  the  fiat  of  the  True  Believer?" 

"I  don't  fear  God  the  less,  sir,  because  I  fear  an 
Egyptian  mummy,  if  that  is  what  you  mean." 

"But  you  are  inclined  to  think  there  are  more  things 
in  earth  and  heaven  than  it  is  well  for  the  average  man 
to  be  concerned  with?" 

"I  am  convinced  of  that,  sir;  and  if  Mr.  Theodore 
doesn't  get  rid  of  that  mummy  and  amend  his  goings 
on,  I  shall  be  compelled  to  give  notice." 

Stated  baldly,  the  old  fellow's  words  may  seem 
ridiculous.  But  as  he  uttered  them  his  distress  was  so 
sincere  that  it  was  impossible  to  deny  him  a  meed  of 
sympathy. 

"Quite  right,  if  you  do,  Peacock,"  I  agreed.     "And 


244  MRS.    FITZ 

you  can  lay  it  to  that  honest  conscience  of  which  you 
are  rightly  proud  that  you  have  served  the  family  long 
and  faithfully,  and  that  no  one  will  question  your  right 
to  an  annuity." 

"Oh,  that  will  be  all  right,  sir,"  said  the  old  retainer ; 
"even  if  Mr.  Theodore  does  act  contrary  to  the  will  of 
God,  nobody  can  deny  that  he  is  a  perfect  gentleman." 

"Is  not  that  rather  a  confirmation  of  the  ancient 
theory  that  the  Devil  was  the  first  perfect  gentleman?" 

"I  have  not  thought  of  that  before,  sir,  but  now  you 
mention  it,  it  is  certainly  worth  thinking  about." 

Having  lent  sanction  to  this  profound  truth,  the  old 
fellow  went  out  of  the  room.  But  I  recalled  him  from 
the  threshold. 

"By  the  way,  Peacock,  Mr.  Theodore  told  me  to  ask 
for  the  Sporting  Times,  a  cigar  and  a  whiskey-and- 
soda." 

"Very  good,  sir."    The  old  fellow  withdrew. 

"And  thank  God  for  them!"  I  muttered  devoutly  to 
the  bare  walls. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

PROVIDES  AN  ILLUSTRATION  OF  THE 

THEORY  THAT  THINGS  ARE  NOT 

ALWAYS  WHAT  THEY  SEEM 

WHEN  the  old  man  returned  with  this  sustenance  for 
the  material  state,  I  was  moved  to  inquire  how  it  was 
that  such  an  intellectual  rawhead  and  bloodybones  as 
this  too-assiduous  diver  into  the  sunless  sea  of  the  occult 
should  subscribe  to  a  journal  of  such  a  texture  and 
complexion. 

"Is  it,  Peacock,  do  you  suppose,  that,  like  Francis 
the  first  Lord  Verulam,  he  would  take  all  knowledge  for 
his  province?" 

"He  goes  racing,  sir,"  said  Peacock,  not  without 
a  suggestion  of  pride.  "And,  what  is  more,  sir,  he  wins 
so  much  money  that  none  of  the  bookmakers  will  have 
anything  to  do  with  him  these  days  if  they  can  help  it. 
Why,  do  you  know,  sir,  he  has  given  me  the  name  of  the 
winner  of  the  Derby  three  years  running  a  whole  fort- 
night before  the  race." 

"Did  you  reconcile  it  with  your  conscience,  Peacock, 
to  back  the  horse?" 

"Not  the  first  time,  sir,  because,  you  see,  I  was  hardly 
convinced  it  would  win.  It  was  a  new  fad  with  him  then. 
But  when  I  found  it  did  win,  and  he  gave  me  the  tip  the 

245 


246  MRS.    FITZ 

next  year,  it  seemed  to  be  flying  in  the  face  of  Provi- 
dence, as  it  were,  to  throw  away  the  chance,  so  I  had  on 
a  sovereign  and  won  nine  pounds  ten." 

"And  the  third  time,  Peacock?" 

"The  third  time,  sir,  I  made  it  five  and  I  won  forty. 
And  if  I  can  stand  his  goings  on,  sir,  until  next  Epsom 
week,  and  he  gives  me  the  tip  again,  I  intend  to  put  on 
all  my  savings." 

I  had  scarcely  the  heart  to  ask  the  old  fellow  what 
his  conscience  had  to  say  in  the  matter.  Doubtless  it 
was  one  of  those  organisms  that  only  responded  to  the 
call  of  the  higher  metaphysics.  It  was  a  patrician  con- 
science, no  doubt,  which  only  concerned  itself  with  the 
ultimate. 

Anyhow,  before  I  could  gratify  my  curiosity  on  this 
point,  the  re-emergence  of  my  Uncle  Theodore  saved  his 
retainer  from  an  inquiry.  A  glance  at  my  watch  con- 
vinced me  that  we  had  not  a  moment  to  lose  if  we  were 
to  catch  the  5.28  from  the  Grand  Central  station. 

Uncle  Theodore  took  an  almost  paternal  leave  of  his 
visitor.  He  conducted  her  to  the  taxicab  which  awaited 
us ;  and  in  a  voice  of  gentleness,  of  winning  deference, 
he  bade  her  God-speed.  When  she  offered  him  her  hand, 
as  it  seemed  almost  timidly,  he  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

"Fear  nothing,"  I  heard  him  say  under  his  breath 
softly,  and  I  thought  the  unhappy  lady  smiled  wanly 
with  her  great  gaunt  eyes. 

As  I  was  about  to  enter  the  cab,  Theodore  placed  his 
hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"Look  after  her,  my  dear  boy."  His  voice  had  the 
fervour  of  a  benediction. 


PROVIDES  AN  ILLUSTRATION          247 

My  companion  appeared  to  have  shed  much  of  her 
distraction  in  the  course  of  her  interview  with  the  weird 
inhabitant  of  Bryanston  Square.  The  sovereignty  of 
the  soul  seemed  once  more  in  her  keeping.  No  longer 
did  she  convey  the  impression  of  one  passing  through 
an  insupportable  mental  crisis.  Whatever  fate  had  in 
store  for  her,  it  was  as  though  she  had  strength  to 
endure  it. 

It  was  in  the  nature  of  a  race  against  time  to  the 
Grand  Central  station.  I  had  promised  the  driver  of 
our  taxi  a  substantial  guerdon  if  he  caught  the  train. 
Undoubtedly  he  did  his  best,  but  fate  decreed  that  he 
was  not  to  earn  it.  An  anxious  study  of  my  watch 
revealed  the  issue  to  be  still  in  the  balance;  but  just  as 
it  began  to  seem  that  we  were  gaining  a  little  on  the 
clock,  there  came  a  sharp  report,  followed  by  an  almost 
simultaneous  crash  of  glass,  and  then  a  confused  suc- 
cession of  happenings. 

Our  vehicle  stopped  abruptly;  a  brief  interval  of 
nothingness  seemed  to  intervene ;  and  the  next  thing  of 
which  I  was  cognisant  was  that  the  lights  had  gone  out 
and  that  a  man  with  a  pale  face  and  a  straw-coloured 
moustache  was  looking  in  at  us  through  the  window. 

"Hope  you  are  not  hurt,  sir."  The  voice  sounded 
remote,  but  I  could  detect  its  note  of  anxiety.  "Is  the 
lady  all  right?" 

Somewhat  dazed,  almost  as  if  I  were  passing  through 
a  dream,  I  heard  the  voice  of  my  companion  speaking 
with  calmness  and  reassurance.  Then  I  heard  the  voice 
of  the  man  again : 


248  MRS.    FITZ 

"I  am  afraid  your  Royal  Highness  will  have  to  go 
on  in  another  taxi." 

And  then  the  door  opened,  and  I  got  out  unsteadily 
and  found  myself  in  the  midst  of  much  traffic  and  a 
press  of  people.  I  then  grew  conscious  that  some  of 
these  had  a  way  with  them,  and  that  they  were  direct- 
ing things  with  a  sort  of  calm  officiousness. 

My  dazed  senses  welcomed  the  helmet  of  a  policeman. 

"Call  a  taxi,  please,"  said  I,  addressing  him  in  a  voice 
that  somehow  did  not  seem  to  belong  to  me.  "Must 
catch  the  5.28  Grand  Central,  whatever  happens.  Will 
give  you  my  card." 

As  I  spoke  I  turned  to  help  my  companion  out  of 
the  vehicle,  and  in  the  act  nearly  measured  my  length 
on  the  kerb.  Strong  and  sympathetic  hands  seemed 
to  come  about  me,  and  again  the  voice  of  the  man  with 
the  straw-coloured  moustache,  sounded  in  my  ear,  de- 
cisive but  kindly  and  respectful. 

"There  is  a  doctor  across  the  road,  sir.  Can  you 
walk,  sir?  Lean  your  weight  on  me." 

"5.28  Grand  Central,"  was  my  incoherent,  almost 
involuntary  rejoinder.  "The  Princess." 

"Yes,  yes,  sir,"  said  the  voice  of  my  friend  in  need 
breaking  in  again  on  my  senses.  "The  Princess  will  be 
all  right  with  us." 

Almost  as  if  by  magic  a  passage  was  made  for  us 
through  the  whirlpool  of  traffic.  We  seemed  to  be  in 
the  middle  of  a  street  that  appeared  quite  familiar  and 
policemen  and  extremely  efficient  persons  in  dark  over- 
coats seemed  to  abound. 


PROVIDES  AN  ILLUSTRATION          249 

"The  Princess,"  I  continued  to  mutter  vaguely  at 
intervals. 

"I  am  with  you,"  said  a  low  and  calm  voice  at  my 
side. 

She  was  helping  my  unknown  friend  to  support  me 
across  the  road.  By  some  subtle  means  her  nearness 
seemed  to  brace  and  stimulate  my  faculties. 

"I  fear  we  shall  not  catch  the  5.28,  ma'am,"  I  said. 

"What  does  it  matter?"  The  tone  of  her  voice 
seemed  to  give  me  strength  and  capacity. 

A  few  yards  away,  down  a  side  street,  was  the  house 
of  a  doctor.  It  seemed  but  a  very  little  while  before  I 
was  in  a  cosy,  well-lighted  room,  with  a  fire  burning 
cheerfully,  and  a  tall,  genial  individual  with  a  red  head 
and  a  Scotch  accent  was  talking  to  me  and  holding  me 
by  the  arm. 

"Pray  sit  down,  madam,"  I  heard  him  say  in  his 
pleasant  brogue.  "I  hope  you  are  none  the  worse  for 
your  accident?" 

"Not  at  all,  t'ank  you,"  replied  my  companion  in  a 
cordial  tone ;  and  then  the  man  who  had  taken  charge 
of  me  was  heard  to  say  to  a  colleague  who  had  followed 
us  into  the  house,  "Perhaps  the  Doctor  will  allow  you 
to  use  his  telephone,  Mr.  Johnson.  Ring  up  the  Super- 
intendent and  then  go  and  see  what  Inspector  Mottrom 
is  doing." 

The  Doctor  gave  me  a  bottle  to  sniff,  and  then  for 
the  first  time  I  realised  that  I  had  an  intolerable  sting- 
ing in  the  arm.  I  glanced  at  it  and  saw  that  the  sleeve 
of  my  coat  was  soaked  with  blood. 

"If  you  will  come  into  the  surgery,"  said  the  Doctor, 


250  MRS.    FITZ 

following  the  direction  of  my  glance,  "we  will  have  a 
look  at  it.  A  breakage  of  glass,  apparently." 

"Yes,"  said  my  friend  in  need,  who  was  evidently  a 
Scotland  Yard  inspector,  answering  for  me  promptly, 
"the  cab  was  pretty  well  smashed  up."  Then  he  added 
in  an  undertone  for  my  private  ear,  "Don't  mention  the 
shots,  sir.  I  am  going  to  telephone  to  the  railway 
people  to  arrange  for  a  special  train  as  soon  as  you 
are  ready  to  go  on.  I  think  it  will  be  safer,  and  two 
of  our  inspectors  will  accompany  the  train." 

"Thank  you  very  much  indeed,"  I  said  gratefully. 

Never  until  that  moment  had  I  fully  realised  the 
organised  efficiency  of  the  Metropolitan  Police. 

As  soon  as  I  entered  the  surgery  I  came  perilously 
near  to  a  fall  on  the  carpet,  somewhat  to  my  disgust, 
for  I  appeared  to  have  sustained  no  injury  beyond  the 
damage  to  my  arm.  Further  recourse,  however,  to  the 
smelling-bottle  defeated  this  temporary  weakness. 

After  traversing  the  injured  member  with  light  and 
deft  fingers,  the  Doctor  procured  a  bowl  of  warm  water, 
a  sponge  and  a  pair  of  scissors.  He  cut  away  the  sleeve 
of  the  overcoat,  then  of  the  coat  and  the  shirt,  reveal- 
ing a  state  of  things  at  which  I  had  no  wish  to  look. 
After  the  application  of  an  antiseptic  in  warm  water 
he  was  able  to  give  an  opinion. 

"I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  "this  is  not  the  work  of  glass." 
He  worked  over  the  quivering  flesh  with  a  finger.  "A 
bullet  has  been  at  work  here.  It  has  glanced  along  the 
lower  arm  apparently,  but  it  does  not  appear  to  have 
lodged  in  it.  An  incised  wound.  There  may  be  a  frac- 
ture. Can  you  move  your  arm  in  this  way?" 


PROVIDES  AN  ILLUSTRATION          251 

With  this  request  I  was  able  somewhat  painfully  to 
comply. 

"That  is  good,"  said  the  Doctor.     "No  fracture." 

It  was  surprising  how  soon  and  how  readily  the  in- 
jured member  yielded  to  the  deft  skill  of  this  good 
Samaritan.  Twenty  minutes  of  assiduous  treatment, 
which,  however,  was  fraught  with  some  pain,  as  it  in- 
cluded the  operation  of  stitching,  did  much  not  only 
for  the  damaged  limb  but  also  for  its  owner.  By  that 
time  I  seemed  to  have  quite  overcome  the  shock  of  these 
events ;  and  with  my  arm  encased  in  bandages  and  rest- 
ing in  a  black  silk  handkerchief,  and  the  good  Doctor 
having  lent  me  an  overcoat  to  replace  my  own  mutilated 
one,  I  was  given  a  pretty  stiff  brandy-and-soda  and 
pronounced  fit  to  travel. 

"It  is  undoubtedly  the  work  of  a  bullet,"  said  the 
Doctor  at  the  end  of  his  labours.  "But  I  suppose  it 
is  no  business  of  mine.  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  the  men 
who  brought  you  here  are  Scotland  Yard  detectives." 

I  smiled  at  the  Doctor's  perspicacity  and  asked  him 
to  be  good  enough  to  take  a  card  out  of  my  cigar-case. 

"Some  day,  perhaps,  I  shall  be  able  to  explain  to 
you  what  the  accident  really  was  and  how  it  came  to 
happen.  In  the  meantime  I  cannot  do  more  than  thank 
you  most  sincerely  for  all  that  you  have  done  for  me." 

There  and  then  I  took  leave  of  this  true  friend,  and 
with  a  sense  of  devout  thankfulness  that  I  was  no  worse 
off  than  I  was,  I  continued  the  journey  to  the  Grand 
Central  station.  When  at  last  we  came  to  that  well- 
known  terminus  the  great  clock  over  the  entrance  was 
pointing  to  five  minutes  past  six. 


252  MRS.    FITZ 

Our  arrival  there  seemed  an  event  of  some  impor- 
tance, to  judge  by  the  demeanour  of  a  number  of  people 
who  appeared  to  take  an  interest  in  it.  Indeed,  so 
much  respectful  attention  did  it  excite  that  it  seemed  to 
be  rather  in  the  nature  of  an  anti-climax  to  have  to  pay 
our  Jehu. 

As  soon  as  we  had  entered  the  booking-hall  no  less 
a  personage  than  the  station-master,  frock-coated  and 
gold-laced,  came  up  to  us  and  took  off  his  hat. 

"Train  ready  to  start,  sir,  as  soon  as  her  Royal 
Highness  desires.  Platform  No.  5.  This  way,  sir,  if 
you  will  kindly  follow  me." 

We  passed  along  to  Platform  No.  5,  engaging  as  we 
did  so  the  good-humoured  interest  of  the  British  Public. 
Here  a  special  saloon  was  awaiting  us,  also  a  carriage 
for  the  accommodation  of  our  friends  from  Scotland 
Yard.  By  a  quarter  past  six  we  had  started  on  our 
journey. 

My  companion  had  borne  all  our  vicissitudes  en  route 
from  Bryanston  Square  with  the  greatest  fortitude  and 
composure.  It  was  no  new  experience  for  her  chequered 
life  to  be  exposed  to  the  bullets  of  the  assassin.  This 
latest  effort  of  the  King's  enemies  she  appeared  to 
regard  with  stoical  indifference.  Even  in  the  shock  of 
the  calamity  itself  she  did  not  lose  her  self-possession. 
And  through  all  our  tribulations  her  attitude  of  ma- 
ternal solicitude  was  charmingly  sincere. 

As  I  came  to  regard  her  from  the  opposite  corner  in 
our  special  saloon,  it  was  clear  that  a  great  change 
had  been  wrought  in  her  by  the  visit  to  the  magician 
of  Bryanston  Square.  It  was  a  change  wholly  for  the 


PROVIDES  AN  ILLUSTRATION          253 

better.  In  lieu  of  the  overwrought  intensity  which  had 
been  so  painful  for  her  friends  to  notice,  was  that  calm 
and  assured  outlook  upon  the  world  of  men  and  things 
which  had  ever  been  her  predominant  characteristic  in 
so  far  as  we  had  known  her. 

"Irene  will  scold  me  dreadfully,"  she  said,  "for  bring- 
ing you  home  like  this." 

"Surely  it  is  the  reverse  of  the  case,  ma'am.  Instead 
of  me  looking  after  you,  I  really  don't  know  what  I 
should  have  done  without  your  help." 

"My  poor  Odo,  you  won't  be  able  to  hunt  for  a 
month  at  least." 

"Perhaps  it  is  for  the  best.  I  shall  have  more  time 
to  think  about  the  dragon  of  socialism  which  is  threat- 
ening to  devour  us  all." 

"Even  here  you  have  that  disease" — there  was  a  half- 
humorous  life  of  the  royal  eyebrow — "even  in  this 
quaint  place.  Why,  it  is  a  disease  that  is  spreading  all 
over  the  world.  If  only  the  dear  people  would  under- 
stand that  it  was  never  intended  that  they  should  think 
for  themselves ;  that  it  is  so  much  wiser,  so  much  less 
expensive,  so  much  more  profitable  in  every  way  that 
they  should  have  those  who  are  used  to  policy  to  think 
for  them!  How  can  Jacques  Bonhomme,  dear,  good, 
ignorant,  stupid  fellow,  know  what  is  good  for  him, 
what  is  good  for  his  country,  what  is  good  for  Europe, 
what  is  good  for  the  whole  world!" 

"The  trouble,  ma'am,  as  far  as  this  island  is  con- 
cerned, is  that  our  Jacques  is  becoming  such  a  shrewd, 
sensible  personage,  who  is  learning  to  go  about  with  his 
eyes  uncommonly  wide  open." 


254  MRS.    FITZ 

"Ants  and  bees  and  dogs  and  horses,  my  good  Odo, 
are  shrewd  and  sensible  enough,  but  Jacques  must  learn 
to  keep  his  place.  Everything  is  good  in  its  degree, 
but  I  cannot  believe  that  a  watchmaker  is  fitted  to  wind 
up  the  clock  of  state  any  more  than  a  common  soldier 
is  fitted  to  win  the  day  of  Rodova." 

"Ah,  the  day  of  Rodova!  I  wonder  if  we  shall  find 
the  Victor  waiting  for  us  when  we  get  back  to  Dymps- 
field  House." 

I  thought  a  faint  cloud  passed  over  the  brows  of  my 
companion. 

"Mais,  out,"  she  said  in  a  soft,  low  tone.  "I  wonder. 
And  old  Schalk.  He  is  such  a  character.  You  will  die 
when  you  see  Schalk." 

"A  very  able  minister,  is  he  not,  ma'am  ?" 

"Like  all  things,  my  good  Odo,"  said  her  Royal  High- 
ness, "Schalk  is  good  in  his  degree.  He  has  his  virtue. 
He  is  learned  in  the  law,  for  instance,  but  there  are 
times  when  like  poor  Jacques  Bonhomme,  Schalk  would 
aspire  to  take  more  on  his  shoulders  than  nature  in- 
tended they  should  bear.  But  there,  do  not  let  us  com- 
plain about  Schalk.  He  is  the  faithful  servant  of  an 
august  master;  do  not  let  us  blame  him  if  he  grows 
old  and  difficult.  I  once  had  a  hound  that  grew  like 
Schalk.  In  the  end  I  had  to  destroy  the  honest  crea- 
ture, but  of  course  that  is  not  to  say  my  father  will 
destroy  Schalk." 

"Quite  so,  ma'am,"  said  I,  with  a  grave  apprecia- 
tion of  the  fine  distinction  that  it  might  please  his 
Majesty  to  draw  in  the  case  of  Baron  von  Schalk. 

I  relapsed  into  reverie.     What  kind  of  a  man  was 


PROVIDES  AN  ILLUSTRATION          255 

this  celebrated  sovereign?  How  would  he  harmonise 
with  the  humble  middle-class  English  setting  to  which 
he  was  on  the  point  of  confiding  himself?  At  this  stage 
it  was  vain  to  repine,  but  as  I  reclined  on  the  cushions 
of  our  royal  saloon,  with  my  arm  throbbing  intolerably 
and  my  temples  too,  what  would  I  not  have  given  to  be 
through  with  the  onerous  duty  of  entertaining  such  a 
guest ! 

As  thus  I  sat  with  our  train  proceeding  full  steam 
ahead  to  Middleham,  my  nerves  began  to  rise  up  in 
mutiny.  Why,  oh,  why!  had  I  not  been  firmer?  What 
could  a  comparative  child,  without  the  slightest  experi- 
ence of  any  walk  of  life  save  her  own  extremely  circum- 
scribed one,  know  of  the  exigencies  of  such  a  situation? 
How  could  sht  appreciate  all  that  was  involved  in  it? 
A  kind  of  mental  nausea  came  upon  me  when  I  realised 
that  I  had  allowed  myself  to  become  responsible  for  the 
personal  safety  and  the  general  well-being  of  the  King 
of  Illyria  during  his  sojourn  in  England. 

The  anxieties  in  which  his  daughter  had  involved  us 
were  severe  enough,  but  in  the  case  of  her  father  they 
seemed  a  hundred  times  more  complex.  Certainly  they 
were  far  too  much  to  ask  of  any  private  individual  in 
the  middle  station  of  life.  It  was  in  vain  that  I  invoked 
an  incipent  sense  of  humour.  Sitting  alone  with  a 
Crown  Princess  in  a  special  train,  with  a  bullet  wound 
in  your  arm,  is  not  apparently  an  ideal  situation  in 
which  to  exercise  it.  I  might  laugh  as  much  as  I  liked 
at  poor  George  Dandin  himself.  His  embarrassments 
in  the  pass  to  which  his  wife's  infatuation  for  realms 
beyond  their  own  had  brought  him  might  be  truly  comic, 


256  MRS.    FITZ 

but  the  married  man,  the  father  of  the  family  and  the 
county  member  was  quite  unable,  in  his  present  shat- 
tered condition,  to  accept  them  with  the  detachment  due 
to  the  true  Olympian  sense. 

Not  to  put  too  fine  a  point  upon  the  matter,  the  mar- 
ried man,  the  father  of  the  family  and  the  county 
member  was  in  an  enfeebled  mental,  physical  and  moral 
state  when  our  special  made  its  first  stop.  With  a 
startled  abruptness  I  emerged  from  my  unpleasant 
speculations.  Could  we  be  at  Middleham  already? 
Hardly,  for  according  to  my  watch  it  was  only  ten 
minutes  past  seven.  I  let  down  the  window  and  found 
that  it  was  Risborough. 

In  about  a  minute  the  guard  of  the  train,  the  local 
station-master  and  the  two  detectives  who  were  accom- 
panying us  as  far  as  Middleham,  came  to  the  door  of 
the  carriage. 

"Extremely  sorry,  sir,"  said  the  station-master,  "but 
you  won't  be  able  to  go  beyond  Blakiston.  There's  been 
a  terrible  accident  to  the  5.28." 

My  heart  gave  a  kind  of  dull  thump  at  this  announce- 
ment. 

"The  driver  ran  right  through  Blankhampton  with 
all  the  signals  against  him.  The  train  has  been  smashed 
up  to  matchwood." 

"My  God!" 

The  station-master  dropped  his  voice. 

"The  full  number  of  casualties  has  not  yet  been  ascer- 
tained, sir,  but  at  least  half  the  passengers  are  killed  or 
injured." 

"How  ghastly!" 


PROVIDES  AN  ILLUSTRATION          257 

"Awful,  sir,  awful.  It  is  the  worst  accident  we  have 
ever  had  on  the  Great  British  system." 

"Poor  souls,  poor  souls !"  said  my  companion.  "God 
rest  them !" 

"We  haven't  had  a  really  bad  accident  for  twenty- 
two  years.  But  this  breaks  our  record  with  a  venge- 
ance. I  can't  think  what  the  poor  chap  was  doing.  As 
good  a  driver  as  we've  got,  to  go  and  do  a  thing  like 
that " 

The  station-master,  a  venerable  and  grizzled  man 
with  a  stern,  heavily-lined  face,  suddenly  lost  his  voice. 

"Fate,"  said  my  companion  with  a  sombre  smile. 
"Who  shall  explain  the  workings  of  destiny?" 

Who,  indeed !  Had  it  not  been  for  the  bullets  of  the 
would-be  assassin  we  should,  in  all  probability,  at  that 
moment  have  been  both  among  the  dead.  What,  after 
all,  does  our  human  foresight  matter  in  the  sum  of 
things?  All  the  same,  I  could  not  help  recalling  with 
a  sense  of  wonder  my  Uncle  Theodore's  anxiety  that 
we  should  not  travel  by  the  ill-fated  5.28. 

"You  will  be  able  to  go  on  as  far  as  Blakiston,"  said 
the  station-master,  "and  the  Company  has  arranged  for 
motor  cars  to  meet  the  train  to  take  you  on  to  Middle- 
ham." 

"What  is  the  distance  from  Blakiston  to  Middle- 
ham?" 

"About  eighteen  miles." 

When  the  train  went  forward  the  current  of  my 
thoughts  was  altered  completely.  My  former  specula- 
tions seemed  mean  beyond  comparison  with  such  an 
event  as  this.  Who  shall  read  the  ways  of  Providence? 


258  MRS.    FITZ 

A  flesh  wound  in  the  arm  and  a  late  dinner  were  a  small 
price  to  pay  after  all. 

Upon  arriving  at  Blakiston  we  found  two  motor  cars 
awaiting  us :  one  for  the  Princess,  the  other  for  our 
escort.  A  consultation  with  the  chauffeurs  disclosed 
the  fact  that  by  proceeding  direct  home  via  Parlow  and 
Little  Basing  instead  of  by  way  of  Middleham,  a  mat- 
ter of  seven  miles  would  be  saved.  Therefore,  after  a 
wire  had  been  sent  to  Middleham  to  inform  our  people 
of  this  change  of  route,  we  entered  upon  the  final  stage 
of  our  adventurous  journey. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  we  exposed  ourselves  to  the 
charge  of  driving  recklessly,  even  if  not  to  the  actual 
danger  of  the  public,  our  destination  was  reached  with- 
out further  mishap.  By  twenty-five  minutes  to  nine 
we  had  turned  in  at  the  lodge  gates  of  Dympsfield 
House.  All  the  windows  of  that  abode  were  a  blaze  of 
light.  Doubtless  the  royal  guest  had  arrived  and,  let 
us  hope,  was  enjoying  his  dinner. 

However,  no  sooner  had  we  entered  the  house  than 
we  were  met  by  Mrs.  Arbuthnot.  She  was  dressed  for 
a  gala  night,  very  decolletee  in  her  best  gown,  carrying 
a  great  quantity  of  sail  in  the  way  of  jewels — jewels 
were  being  worn  that  year — and  with  a  coiffure  that 
absolutely  baffles  the  pen  of  the  conscientious  historian. 
But,  alas !  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  was  on  the  verge  of  tears. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

HIS   ILLYRIAN   MAJESTY  FERDINAND   THE 
TWELFTH 

His  Majesty  had  not  arrived,  and  the  dinner  was 
spoiling. 

"No  news  of  the  King?"  I  asked,  keeping  well  in  the 
background,  for  I  had  no  wish  for  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  to 
observe  my  condition  prematurely. 

"Nevil  said  in  his  telegram  that  he  would  be  here 
about  a  quarter  past  seven,  and  it  is  now  five  minutes 
past  nine,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  tearfully. 

"Five-and-twenty  minutes  to  nine,  mon  enfant,  ac- 
cording to  Greenwich,"  said  I  as  reassuringly  as  the 
circumstances  permitted.  "Your  clock  is  wrong  by 
half-an-hour.  But  there  has  been  a  bad  accident  at 
Blankhampton.  Would  they  come  by  Blankhampton  ? 
If  they  did,  that  would  be  bound  to  delay  them." 

"Oh  dear !"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot.  "If  anything  has 
happened  to  the  King!  And  oh,  Sonia  dear,  how  late 
you  are!"  she  added  reproachfully.  "I  was  getting  so 
horribly  nervous  about  you.  And  you  not  here  to  pre- 
sent me  or  anything!  But  now  you've  come  it  is  all 
right.  Just  be  a  dear  and  have  a  look  at  the  table 
before  you  go  up  to  dress." 

The  Princess,  however,  had  scarcely  had  time  to  yield 
259 


260  MRS.    FITZ 

to  Mrs.  Arbuthnot's  suggestion,  and  I  was  in  the  act 
of  walking  upstairs  in  a  state  of  uncomfortable  anxiety 
in  regard  to  the  operation  of  changing  my  clothes, 
when  from  the  vicinity  of  the  hall  door  there  came  the 
sounds  of  fresh  arrivals.  I  hurried  to  it,  to  be  greeted 
immediately  by  the  voice  of  Fitz. 

"Rather  late,"  he  said  with  that  air  of  languor  which 
afflicted  him  on  great  occasions.  "Line  blocked  at 
Blankhampton.  Devil  of  a  smash.  Tiresome  cross- 
country journey,  but  we've  turned  up  at  last." 

"Safe  and  sound,  I  hope?" 

"Right  as  rain." 

As  we  walked  together  down  the  front  steps  to  the 
open  door  of  the  car  that  stood  at  the  bottom  in  the 
darkness,  I  was  conscious  that  my  pulse  was  a  thought 
too  rapid  for  a  tacit  subscriber  to  the  theory  of  de- 
mocracy. I  held  the  door  while  an  enormous  figure  of 
a  man  disengaged  himself  slowly,  and  not  without  diffi- 
culty, from  the  interior. 

I  made  a  somewhat  lower  bow  than  the  Englishman 
in  general  permits  himself.  A  smiling  and  subtle  vis- 
age, at  once  handsome  and  venerable,  was  promptly 
turned  upon  me,  and  I  found  myself  exchanging  a  cor- 
dial and  powerful  grip  of  the  hand. 

Ferdinand  the  Twelfth  ascended  the  front  steps  in 
the  charge  of  his  son-in-law,  while  I  held  the  door  for 
the  second  occupant  of  the  car  to  alight.  I  made  an 
obeisance  only  a  shade  less  in  depth  than  the  one  I  had 
bestowed  upon  the  Sovereign.  Baron  von  Schalk  was 
small  and  dapper,  with  a  face  full  of  intelligence  and 
not  unlike  that  of  a  bird  of  prey.  As  we  exchanged 


FERDINAND  THE  TWELFTH          261 

bows,  it  seemed  that  every  line  of  it,  and  there  were 
many,  was  eloquent  of  power. 

"I  hope  the  journey  has  not  tired  his  Majesty?"  I 
ventured  to  say.  "It  must  have  been  very  tedious." 

Baron  von  Schalk  smiled  passively,  made  a  deep  gut- 
tural noise  and  answered  in  very  tolerable  English,  "On 
the  contrary,  most  interesting.  The  King  never  tires 
himself." 

At  the  top  of  the  steps,  framed  in  a  glow  of  soft  light 
from  within,  were  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  and  the  Princess. 
Standing  side  by  side,  they  appeared  to  be  vying  with 
one  another  in  the  depth  and  grace  of  their  curtseys. 
No  sooner  had  the  King  ascended  to  them  than  he  took 
a  hand  of  each  in  his  own  and  led  them  into  the  hall, 
as  though  they  had  been  a  pair  of  his  small  grandchil- 
dren. There  was  a  spontaneity  about  the  action  which 
was  charming. 

Half-an-hour  later  we  were  assembled  in  the  drawing- 
room.  The  King  promptly  offered  his  arm  to  his  host- 
ess, and  led  the  way  in  the  direction  of  her  unfortunate 
meal.  His  daughter  placed  her  hand  very  lightly  upon 
the  arm  of  the  Chancellor,  directing  an  arch  look  over 
his  shoulder  at  me  as  she  did  so,  as  if  she  would  say, 
"There  is  no  help  for  it !" 

Fitz  and  I,  walking  side  by  side,  brought  up  the  rear 
of  the  procession.  The  Man  of  Destiny  had  a  very 
fell  visage. 

"What  have  you  done  to  your  arm?"  he  asked. 

"Got  smashed  up  in  a  taxi  this  afternoon." 

"Where?" 

"Oxford  Street,  I  believe." 


262  MRS.    FITZ 

"What  were  you  doing  there  ?" 

"The  Princess  had  important  business  in  town,  and 
I  went  with  her." 

"Important  business  in  town !  She  never  said  a  word 
to  me  about  it.  Was  she  in  the  accident  too?" 

"Yes,  but  luckily  she  didn't  get  a  scratch.  And  of 
course  this  is  only  a  slight  superficial  wound." 

The  slight  superficial  wound  did  its  best  to  contradict 
me  by  throbbing  vilely. 

Ferdinand  the  Twelfth  sat  on  the  right  of  his  host- 
ess, his  Chancellor  on  her  left.  It  is  the  due,  I  think, 
of  our  recently  and  temporarily  imported  culinary 
artist,  lately  in  the  service  of  a  nobleman,  to  say  that 
he  had  done  extremely  well  in  trying  circumstances. 
There  is  no  sauce  like  hunger,  of  course,  but  it  was 
observed  that  the  King  ate  heartily,  and,  although  verg- 
ing upon  the  statutory  term  of  human  life,  seemed  not 
one  penny  the  worse  for  his  long  and  trying  journey. 

He  spoke  English  with  an  agreeable  fluency.  Not 
only  did  he  know  this  country  very  well  indeed,  but  we 
gathered  that  he  was  accustomed  to  find  it  pleasant. 
Seen  across  a  dinner-table  it  was  clear  that  his  por- 
traits had  not  in  the  least  exaggerated  his  natural  pic- 
turesqueness.  It  was  a  noble,  leonine  head,  a  thing  of 
power  and  virility,  framed  with  a  mane  of  white  hair. 
His  eyes  were  heavy-lidded,  but  deep-seeing  and  almost 
uncomfortably  direct  and  penetrating  in  their  gaze; 
yet  where  one  might  have  expected  calculation  and  cold 
detachment  there  was  an  impenetrable  veil  of  kindliness 
which  served  to  obscure  the  elemental  forces  which  must 
have  lurked  beneath. 


FERDINAND  THE  TWELFTH  263 

There  were  tomatoes  among  the  hors-d'oeuvres,  and 
there  were  tomatoes  in  the  soup.  When  the  victor  of 
Rodova  made  a  significant  departure  from  the  custom 
of  our  land  by  smacking  his  lips  and  astonishing  the 
impassive  Parkins  by  sayin,  "Make  my  compliments 
to  de  chef  upon  his  consomme;  I  will  haf  more,"  his 
hostess  hoisted  the  ensign  of  the  rose,  and  her  Royal 
Highness  beamed  upon  her. 

"There,  Irene!  what  did  I  not  tell  you,  my  child?" 
she  exclaimed  triumphantly. 

"Oliver  has  a  devil  of  a  twist  upon  him,  evidently," 
murmured  the  son-in-law  of  Ferdinand  the  Twelfth,  in 
an  aside  to  his  host  of  such  deplorable  banality  that  an 
apology  is  offered  for  its  appearance  in  these  pages. 
"I  wish  it  would  choke  the  old  swine." 

"On  the  contrary,  he  seems  a  quite  kindly  and  pater- 
nal old  gentleman." 

"Ha,  you  don't  know  him !" 

I  admitted  that  I  did  not  and  that  I  looked  forward 
to  our  better  acquaintance. 

The  hostess  and  her  humble  coadjutor  in  the  things 
of  this  life  felt  it  to  be  a  supreme  moment  in  the  prog- 
ress of  the  feast  when  the  royal  lips  were  brought  to 
the  brink  of  the  paternal  madeira  which  had  reached  us 
so  opportunely,  if  so  illicitly,  from  Doughty  Bridge, 
Yorks.  But  our  suspense  was  resolved  at  once.  The 
victor  of  Rodova  raised  his  glass  to  his  hostess  with 
the  most  benignant  glance  in  the  world,  and  for  the 
second  time  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  hoisted  the  ensign  of  the 
rose. 

Certainly  the  royal  expansion  had  a  charm  that  was 


264.  MRS.    FITZ 

all  its  own.  Being  called  for  the  first  time  to  my 
present  exalted  plane  of  social  intercourse,  I  had  had 
no  opportunity  of  observing  anything  quite  like  it, 
other  than  in  the  manners  of  Fitz  and  his  wife  which 
had  proved  such  a  scandal  to  our  neighbourhood.  But 
the  victor  of  Rodova  was  so  spontaneous  in  his  actions 
and  so  unstudied  in  his  gestures,  and  he  appeared  to 
wear  his  heart  on  his  sleeve  with  such  a  childlike  facility, 
that  to  one  nurtured  in  our  insular  mode  of  self -repres- 
sion it  was  as  good  as  a  play  to  be  in  his  company. 

One  thing  was  clear.  From  the  first  it  was  plain  that 
Mrs.  Arbuthnot  had  achieved  a  great  personal  triumph. 
And  in  the  particular  circumstances  of  the  case  I  am 
constrained  to  append  the  courtier-like  phrase,  "nor 
was  it  to  be  wondered  at."  Speaking  out  of  a  mode- 
rately full  knowledge  of  the  subject  in  all  its  cham- 
eleon-like range  of  vicissitude,  from  grave  to  gay, 
from  lively  to  severe,  in  gowns  by  Worth,  in  frocks  by 
Paquin,  in  costumes  by  Redfern,  in  nondescript  crea- 
tions by  "the  woman  who  makes  things  for  Mama,"  I 
had  never  seen  the  subject  in  question  keyed  up  to  quite 
this  degree  of  allure.  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  was  magnificent. 

The  King  beamed  upon  her  and  she  beamed  upon  the 
King.  More  than  once  he  pledged  her  in  the  paternal 
madeira ;  and  before  the  modest  feast  had  run  its  course 
Fitz  gave  me  a  stealthy  kick  on  the  shin. 

"Tell  her  to  keep  her  door  locked  to-night,"  he  said 
in  one  of  his  sinister  asides. 

The  bluntness  of  the  words  was  most  uncomfortable, 
but  there  was  no  reason  to  doubt  their  sincerity.  It 
was  a  piece  of  advice  at  which  one  so  incorrigibly  bour- 


FERDINAND  THE  TWELFTH  265 

geois  as  its  recipient  might  have  taken  offence.  That 
he  did  not  do  so  should  be  counted  to  him,  upon  due 
reflection,  as  the  expression  of  some  remote  strain  of 
a  more  azure  tint ! 

"I  know  the  King's  majesty  only  too  well,"  said  the 
son-in-law  of  Ferdinand  the  Twelfth. 

When  the  ladies  had  left  us,  the  King  talked  in  the 
friendliest  manner  and  always  with  that  engaging  sim- 
plicity that  was  so  unstudied  and  so  charming.  He 
was  curious  to  know  what  I  had  done  to  my  arm,  and 
when  I  told  him  he  inquired  minutely  as  to  the  nature 
of  the  wound,  and  gave  me  advice  as  to  its  treatment. 
This  piece  of  consideration  recalled  the  magazine  article 
I  had  lately  studied.  Here  seemed  a  practical  illustra- 
tion of  the  fact  that  in  a  literal  sense  he  was  the  father 
of  his  people. 

"You  must  shew  it  to  me  to-morrow,"  he  said.  "And 
I  will  give  you  some  ointment  I  always  carry,  made 
by  my  own  chemist  to  my  own  prescription.  Schalk 
laughs  at  my  chemistry,  but  that's  because  he's  jealous. 
I  will  apply  it  for  you,  and  in  three  days  you  will  see 
the  difference.  What  are  you  laughing  at,  Schalk?" 

"A  man  may  laugh  at  his  thoughts,  sir,  may  he  not?" 
said  Schalk,  with  a  dour  smile. 

"Not  in  the  presence  of  the  little  father,  Schalk,  un- 
less he  shares  them  with  the  little  father.  What  are  you 
laughing  at?  But  there,  since  you  bungled  that  treaty 
with  the  wily  Teuton  your  thoughts  are  not  of  much 
consequence.  You  know  I  don't  care  a  doit  for  your 
thoughts,  Schalk,  since  you  went  to  Berlin.  The 
thoughts  of  Schalk,  forsooth!  The  wine  is  with  you, 


266  MRS.    FITZ 

you  rascal.  Remember  that  in  England  it  is  not  con- 
sidered to  be  good  breeding  to  get  drunk  before  your 
King." 

"In  Illyria,  sir,  that  is  always  held  to  be  impossible," 
said  Schalk. 

Ferdinand  the  Twelfth  indulged  in  a  guffaw. 

"Good  for  you,  impious  one !  Nay,  fill  up  your  glass 
before  you  pass  it,  and  keep  out  your  long  nose,  else 
our  English  friends  will  think  we  have  no  manners  in 
Illyria." 

When  it  pleases  a  monarch  to  unbend,  the  laughter 
his  sallies  evoke  may  seem  overmuch  for  his  wit.  But 
it  is  an  excellent  custom  to  laugh  heartily  at  the  humour 
of  kings.  Ferdinand  the  Twelfth,  in  spite  of  his  long 
journey,  was  in  a  very  gracious  mood  and  indulged  us 
with  many  sallies  at  the  expense  of  his  Chancellor. 
Baron  von  Schalk,  however,  was  well  able  to  defend  him- 
self. It  must  be  allowed,  I  think,  that  the  royal  wit 
was  neither  very  refined  nor  very  courteous.  Rough 
and  primitive,  it  had  something  of  a  Gargantuan  savour. 
But  his  own  deep-voiced  appreciation  of  it  was  a  per- 
petual feast.  He  also  told  one  or  two  stories  of  a  true 
Rabelaisian  cast.  They  were  told  with  an  immense 
gusto,  and  he  led  the  laughter  himself  with  a  whole- 
heartedness  which  was  quite  Homeric.  Before  the 
bottle  the  victor  of  Rodova  was  magnificent  company. 
It  was  impossible  not  to  respond  to  his  unaffected,  if 
extremely  catholic,  good-humour. 

When  we  joined  the  ladies  we  found  them  playing  a 
game  of  patience.  The  Father  of  his  People  imme- 
diately carried  a  chair  to  the  side  of  Mrs.  Arbuthnot, 


FERDINAND  THE  TWELFTH  267 

sat  beside  her  and  offered  pertinent  help  in  the  arrange- 
ment of  her  cards. 

"But  this  game  is  only  fit  for  people  like  Schalk," 
he  declared.  "Britch  is  the  game  we  play  in  Illyria." 

Interpreting  such  a  remark  as  being  in  the  nature  of 
a  command,  the  hostess  swept  her  cards  together,  and 
imperiously  ordered  her  spouse  to  get  the  bridge 
markers. 

"How  shall  we  play,  sir?"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot. 

"Togezzer,  madame,  you  and  I,"  said  the  King,  with 
an  air  of  homage,  "if  you  please.  I  can  see  you  play 
well." 

"Oh,  sir !"  said  Madame,  for  the  third  time  hoisting 
the  ensign  of  the  rose.  "How  can  you  possibly  know 
that?" 

"Infallible  signs,  milady,"  said  the  King,  laughing. 
"Trust  an  old  soldier  to  read  the  signs.  First,  your 
ears,  if  I  may  say  so.  They  have  shape  and  position, 
just  like  my  own.  That  means  a  well-balanced  mind. 
And  that  dainty  head,  c'est  magnifique!  What  intellect 
behind  that  forehead!  Now  give  me  your  hand — the 
left  one." 

Milady  gave  the  King  a  much  bejewelled  paw. 

"Ouf!"  said  he,  "what  ambition!  You  will  never 
hesitate  to  call  sans  at  out.  The  heart-line  is  very  good, 
also.  There  will  be  no  other  partner  for  Ferdinand. 
Schalk  can  have  whom  he  pleases." 

It  pleased  Baron  von  Schalk  to  choose  her  Royal 
Highness,  and  a  very  interesting  game  began. 

"We  must  take  care,  milady,"  said  Ferdinand  the 
Twelfth,  "we  simple  children  of  nature.  I  expect  they 


268  MRS.    FITZ 

will  cheat  us  horribly.  Schalk  has  very  little  in  the  way 
of  a  conscience,  and  nothing  delights  Sonia  so  much  as 
to  overreach  a  confiding  parent." 

As  he  spoke  it  pleased  this  simple  child  of  nature  to 
revoke  in  a  very  flagrant  and  palpable  manner. 

"No  diamonds,  partner?"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot. 

"None  whatever,"  said  the  King  blandly.  "I  think 
a  small  deuce  will  take  that  trick,  eh,  Schalk?" 

"So  it  appears,  sir,"  said  the  long-suffering  Chan- 
cellor. 

I  was  led  aside  by  the  son-in-law  of  Ferdinand  the 
Twelfth. 

"If  you  watch  this  game,  old  son,"  said  he,  "you  will 
gain  an  insight  into  the  monarchical  basis  of  the  con- 
stitution of  Illyria.  Let  us  watch  what  the  plausible 
old  ruffian  does  with  the  nine  of  diamonds." 

Happily  the  game  was  not  being  played  for  money. 
But  it  was  characteristic  of  the  Illyrian  ruler,  that  in 
even  the  simple  matter  of  a  game  of  cards  he  was  in- 
capable of  conducting  it  other  than  in  a  manner  pecu- 
liarly his  own. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  FATHER  OF  HIS  PEOPLE 

IT  WAS  past  two  o'clock  when  the  partie  was  dis- 
solved. No  sooner  had  our  guests  retired  to  their  repose 
than  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  turned  enthusiastically  to  her 
lord. 

"What  a  perfectly  lovely  old  man!  Such  charm, 
such  distinction ;  so  kind,  so  unaffected,  and  oh,  so 
simple !  There  is  something  in  being  a  king,  after  all." 

"Things  are  not  always  what  they  seem,  mon  enfant," 
I  remarked  uneasily. 

"He  is  a  perfect  old  darling." 

"He  is  one  of  the  deepest  men  in  Europe,  as  all  the 
world  knows." 

"He  is  a  dear." 

"Personally,  I  have  no  wish  to  meet  him  in  a  lonely 
lane  on  a  dark  night,  if  I  should  happen  to  have  any- 
thing upon  me  that  I  cared  to  lose." 

"Why,  goose,  you  are  jealous!" 

"Put  not  your  trust  in  princes,  my  child."  And 
reluctantly  enough,  I  confided  Fitz's  piece  of  advice. 

Howbeit  I  was  more  than  half  prepared  for  Mrs. 
Arbuthnot's  queenlike  indignation. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Odo?"  said  she  majestically. 
The  outraged  delicacy  of  a  De  Vere  Vane-Anstruther 
is  a  very  majestic  thing. 


270  MRS.    FITZ 

"Either  you  promise,  or  I  don't  sleep  over  the 
stables." 

"This  is  all  the  doing  of  Fitz!  He  has  an  insane 
prejudice." 

"Fitz  is  a  very  shrewd  fellow,  and  he  knows  our  guest 
rather  better  than  either  of  us.  You  must  not  forget 
that  kings  are  kings  in  Illyria." 

"I  don't  understand." 

"You  must  promise,  even  if  you  don't." 

"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  It  is  a  humiliating 
suggestion.  Besides,  it  is  all  so  bourgeois" 

"I  was  waiting  for  that.  But  whatever  it  is,  I  have 
quite  made  up  my  mind.  Either  you  promise,  or  I  don't 
sleep  over  the  stables." 

"Then  I  refuse;  absolutely  and  unconditionally  I 
refuse,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot,  with  what  can  only  be 
described  as  hauteur. 

It  was  our  first  impasse  in  the  course  of  six  years  of 
double  harness.  I  have  never  disguised  from  myself 
that  I  am  a  weak  mortal.  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  has  never 
disguised  it  from  me  either.  The  habit  of  yielding 
more  or  less  gracefully  to  the  imperious  will  of  the 
superior  half  of  my  entity  had  become  second  nature. 
But  there  was  a  voice  within  that  would  not  have  me 
give  way. 

"Absolutely  and  unconditionally !  I  consider  it 
odious.  And  why  you  should  insult  me  in  this  man- 
ner  " 

The  star  of  my  destiny  was  rising  to  the  heights  of 
the  tragedy  queen. 

"If  you  would  only  make  the  effort  to  understand, 


THE  FATHER  OF  HIS  PEOPLE         271 

my  child,"  I  said  patiently,  "what  is  implied  in  your 
own  admission  that  there  is  something  in  being  a  king, 
after  all !" 

"You  are  insanely  jealous.  He  is  a  perfect  dear, 
and  he  is  old  enough  to  be  one's  grandfather." 

For  once,  however,  I  was  adamant.  Together  we 
ascended  the  stairs ;  together  we  entered  her  ladyship's 
chamber.  There  was  not  adequate  accommodation  for 
the  two  of  us.  The  best  rooms  had  been  placed  at  the 
disposal  of  Fitz  and  his  wife,  and  of  the  King  and  his 
Chancellor.  Leading  out  of  this  apartment,  however, 
was  a  small  dressing-room  with  a  sofa  in  it.  I  opened 
the  door  and,  as  I  did  so,  delivered  my  final  ultimatum. 

"Irene,  you  will  either  do  as  you  are  asked,  else  I 
spend  the  rest  of  the  night  in  there." 

"Pray  do  as  you  choose,"  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  was  pale 
with  indignation.  "But  I  shall  not  lock  the  door." 

"So  be  it." 

Leaving  the  door  of  the  dressing-room  slightly  ajar, 
I  lay  down  on  the  sofa  just  as  I  was,  and  composed 
myself  for  slumber  as  well  as  an  entirely  ridiculous  sit- 
uation would  permit.  Precisely  how  it  had  come  about 
it  was  hard  to  determine,  but  I  was  prepared  to  inflict 
upon  my  overwrought  self,  for  the  events  of  that  long 
day  had  been  many  and  remarkable,  a  still  further 
amount  of  bodily  discomfort.  But  Fitz's  hint  had  over- 
thrown a  married  mato,  a  father  of  a  family  and  a 
county  member,  whatever  the  sense  of  humour  had  to 
say  about  it  all. 

In  the  process  of  time  I  forgot  sufficiently  the  dull 
tumult  of  my  brain  and  the  throbbing  of  my  arm  for 


272  MRS.    FITZ 

my  jaded  nerves  to  be  lulled  into  an  uneasy  doze.  How 
long  I  had  been  oblivious  of  my  surroundings  I  do  not 
know,  but  quite  suddenly  a  cry  seemed  to  break  in  upon 
my  senses.  I  awoke  with  a  start. 

The  room  was  in  total  darkness  save  for  a  thread  of 
light  which  came  through  the  partially  open  door  of  the 
adjoining  chamber.  But  sounds  and  a  voice  proceeded 
from  it. 

I  rose  from  my  sofa  and  listened  at  the  threshold. 

"Little  milady.     Little  Irene." 

The  pleading  accents  were  familiar,  and  paternal. 

I  pushed  open  the  door  and  entered  the  room.  A 
distracted  vision  with  streaming  hair  and  in  a  white 
night-gown  was  sitting  up  in  bed ;  while  candle  in  hand 
a  magnificent  figure  in  a  blue  silk  Oriental  robe  over  a 
brilliant  yellow  sleeping-suit  was  confronting  her. 

"Little  milady.     Little  Irene." 

I  fumbled  for  the  knob  of  the  electric  light,  found  it 
and  turned  it  up. 

I  was  face  to  face  with  a  subtle  and  smiling  visage. 
There  was  astonishment  in  it,  it  was  true,  but  it  was 
also  full  of  humour  and  benevolence. 

"Why,  my  friend,"  said  Ferdinand  the  Twelfth  in 
his  most  paternal  manner,  "pray  what  are  you  doing 
here?" 

I  confess  that  I  could  find  no  answer  to  the  royal 
inquiry. 

In  the  circumstances  it  was  not  easy  to  know  what 
reply  to  make.  Indeed  so  completely  was  I  taken  aback 
that  I  could  not  find  a  word  to  say.  Coolly  enough 
the  King  stood  regarding  me  with  that  bland  and  subtle 


THE  FATHER  OF  HIS  PEOPLE         273 

countenance.  But  as  those  smiling  eyes  measured  me 
they  gave  me  "to  think."  I  carried  one  arm  in  a  sling, 
I  was  without  a  weapon,  and  the  Father  of  his  People 
was  a  man  of  exceptional  physical  power. 

As  a  measure  of  precaution,  I  reached  pensively  for 
the  poker. 

A  transitory  gleam  flitted  across  the  King's  face,  but 
the  royal  countenance  was  still  urbane. 

"Madame  should  have  locked  her  door,"  he  said,  with 
an  air  of  humorous  reproach.  "Dat  is  a  good  custom 
we  haf  in  Illyria." 

"Your  Majesty  must  forgive  us,"  said  I  without  per- 
mitting my  glance  to  stray  towards  the  half-terrified 
vision  that  was  so  near  to  me,  "if  we  appear  bourgeois. 
The  fact  is  we  are  not  so  familiar  as  we  should  like  to 
be  with  the  usages  of  the  great  world." 

The  King  laughed  heartily. 

"There  is  nothing  to  forgive,  my  good  friend,"  he 
said  with  an  air  of  splendid  magnanimity.  "But 
Madame  should  certainly  have  locked  her  door.  How- 
ever, let  us  not  bear  malice." 

With  a  superbly  graceful  gesture,  in  which  the 
paternal  and  the  humorous  were  delightfully  com- 
mingled, the  King  withdrew. 

Horror  and  incredulity  contended  in  the  eyes  of  Mrs. 
Arbuthnot.  But  I  did  not  think  well  to  spare  her  the 
reverberation  of  my  triumph. 

"There  is  something  in  being  a  king,  after  all,  mon 
enfant." 

Mrs.  Arbuthnot  was  only  able  to  gasp. 

"Do  not  let  us  blame  him ;  he  is  the  Father  of  his 


MRS.    FITZ 

People.  But  apparently  it  would  seem  that  that  which 
may  be  bourgeois  in  the  eyes  of  the  matrons  of  the 
Crackanthorpe  Hunt  is  really  the  highest  breeding  in 
Illyria." 

Thereupon  I  laid  down  the  poker  as  pensively  as  I 
had  taken  it  up,  sought  to  compose  the  star  of  my 
destiny,  who  was  beginning  to  weep  softly,  and  bade 
her  good  morning.  f 

Outside  the  door  I  lingered  a  moment  to  hear  the 
key  click  in  the  lock  in  the  most  unmistakable  manner. 

With  the  aid  of  a  candle  I  made  my  way  to  my 
temporary  quarters  over  the  stables.  The  hour  was  a 
quarter  to  five.  Little  time  was  left  for  further  repose, 
but  it  was  used  to  such  advantage  that  it  was  not  with- 
out difficulty  that  my  servant  was  able  to  rouse  me  at 
a  quarter  to  eight.  By  the  time  I  was  putting  the  fin- 
ishing touches  to  my  toilet  I  was  informed  that  Count 
Zhygny  was  below,  inspecting  the  horses. 

Count  Zhygny,  to  give  our  illustrious  guest  his  nom 
de  guerre,  which,  like  nearly  all  Illyrian  proper  names, 
it  is  well  not  to  attempt  to  pronounce  as  it  is  spelt,  was 
stroking  the  fetlocks  of  Daydream  with  an  air  of  know- 
ingness  when  I  joined  him.  Dressed  in  a  suit  of  tweeds 
and  a  green  felt  hat,  he  looked  the  picture  of  restless 
energy.  Seen  in  the  light  of  day  he  was  far  older  than 
he  had  appeared  the  previous  night.  Hollows  were  re- 
vealed in  his  cheeks,  and  there  were  pouches  under  his 
eyes.  His  hands  shook  and  his  brow  had  many  lines, 
but  every  one  of  his  many  inches  was  instinct  with  a 
natural  force. 
1  His  greeting  was  frank  and  hearty  and  as  cordial  as 


THE  FATHER  OF  HIS  PEOPLE         275 

you  please.  There  was  not  a  trace  of  resentment  or 
embarrassment.  But,  from  the  manly  ease  of  his  bear- 
ing, it  was  abundantly  clear  that  the  king  could  do  no 
wrong. 

He  linked  his  arm  through  mine,  and  together  we 
strolled  in  to  breakfast.  At  the  sideboard  I  helped 
him  to  bacon  and  tomatoes,  and  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  gave 
him  coffee. 

The  manner  of  "little  milady"  was  perhaps  a  thought 
constrained  when  she  received  his  Majesty's  matutinal 
greeting.  To  encourage  her  he  pinched  her  ear  play- 
fully. 

Mrs.  Fitz  did  not  grace  this  movable  feast,  and  Fitz 
and  the  Chancellor  were  rather  late. 

"You  have  taken  a  long  time  over  your  devotions, 
Schalk,"  said  the  King.  "I  am  glad  it  does  not  cost 
me  these  pains  to  keep  on  good  terms  with  heaven." 

"I  also,  sir,"  said  Schalk  drily. 

"I  see  you  have  the  English  Times  there,  Schalk. 
What  is  the  news  this  morning?" 

The  Chancellor  adjusted  a  pair  of  gold  pince-nez 
and  began  to  read  aloud  from  that  organ  of  opinion. 

"Blaenau,  Wednesday  morning.  The  Illyrian  Land 
Bill  was  read  a  second  time  in  the  House  of  Deputies 
this  afternoon." 

"Ha,  that  is  important,"  said  the  King,  laughing. 
"What  a  well-informed  journal  is  the  English  Times! 
Do  you  approve  of  the  Illyrian  Land  Bill,  Schalk?" 

"Since  I  had  the  honour  of  drafting  it,  sir,  to  your 
dictation,  I  cannot  do  less  than  endorse  it." 

"And  read  a  second  time  already,  says  the  English 


276  MRS.    FITZ 

Times,  in  the  House  of  Deputies.  I  always  say  they 
have  some  of  the  best  minds  of  the  Kingdom  in  the 
Lower  House." 

"Trust  them  to  know  what  is  good  for  themselves," 
said  Schalk  sourly. 

It  was  tolerably  clear,  from  the  Chancellor's  manner, 
that  his  royal  master  was  enjoying  a  little  private 
baiting. 

"Why,  Schalk,"  he  said,  "I  believe  you  are  still  harp- 
ing on  Clause  Three." 

"I  have  never  reverted,  sir,  from  my  original  view," 
said  the  Chancellor,  "that  under  Clause  Three  the  peas- 
antry is  getting  far  more  than  is  good  for  it.  I  have 
always  felt,  sir,  as  you  are  aware,  that  this  is  a  conces- 
sion to  the  pestilential  agrarian  agitator,  and  I  feel  sure 
the  First  Chamber  will  proclaim  this  opinion  also." 

"Well,  well,  Schalk,"  said  the  King  cheerfully,  "is  it 
not  the  function  of  the  First  Chamber  to  disagree  with 
the  Second,  and  what  is  the  Little  Father  for  except 
to  soothe  their  quarrels  by  flattering  both  and  agreeing 
with  neither?" 

"Your  Majesty  is  pleased  to  speak  in  riddles,"  said 
the  Chancellor  with  gravity. 

"What  a  cardinal  you  would  have  made,  Schalk!" 
said  his  master.  "But  if  you  have  really  made  up  your 
mind  about  Clause  Three,  we  must  look  at  it  again.  I 
agree  with  you  that  it  is  not  good  for  growing  children 
to  eat  all  the  cake.  We  must  keep  a  little  for  their 
elders,  because  they  like  cake  too,  it  appears." 

"Everyone   is   fond   of   cake,"   said   the   Chancellor 


THE  FATHER  OF  HIS  PEOPLE         277 

sententiously,  "but  there  is  never  quite  enough  to  go 
round,  unfortunately." 

"That  is  a  happy  phrase  of  Schalk's,"  said  the  King, 
making  the  conversation  general  with  his  amused  air ; 
"  'the  pestilential  agrarian  agitator.'  Have  you  that 
kind  of  animal  in  England?" 

"We  are  infested  with  him,  sir,"  said  the  member  for 
the  Uppingdon  Division  of  Middleshire,  the  owner  of  a 
modest  thousand  or  so  of  acres.  "The  people  for  the 
land,  and  the  land  for  the  people !  The  country  reeks 
of  it." 

"It  is  the  same  everywhere,"  said  the  King.  "A 
great  world  movement  is  upon  us.  The  wise  can  detect 
the  voice  of  the  future  in  the  cry  of  the  people,  but 
there  are  some  people  who  stuff  wool  in  their  ears,  eh, 
Schalk?" 

Ferdinand  the  Twelfth  assumed  a  sort  of  indulgent 
sagacity.  This  half-serious,  half-bantering  fragment 
of  his  discourse  and  half-a-dozen  to  a  similar  tenor  to 
which  it  was  my  privilege  to  listen,  seemed  to  establish 
one  fact  clearly.  It  was  that  the  King  was  not  the 
slave  of  his  ministers.  He  was  a  man  with  a  keen  out- 
look upon  his  time,  deliberately  unprogressive,  not  in 
response  to  the  reactionary  forces  by  which  he  was  sur- 
rounded, but  because  he  held  that  it  was  not  good  for 
the  world  to  go  too  fast. 

His  article  of  faith  was  simple  enough,  and  in  his 
conduct  he  did  not  hesitate  to  embody  it.  He  conceived 
it  to  be  the  highest  good  for  every  people  to  have  a 
king ;  a  wise,  patient  and  beneficent  law-giver  to  correct 


278  MRS.    FITZ 

the  excess  of  faction ;  one  to  stand  at  the  helm  to  steer 
the  ship  of  state  through  troubled  waters. 

Whether  his  conception  of  the  monarchical  condition 
was  right  or  wrong,  he  was  able  to  enforce  it  with  all 
the  weight  of  his  personality.  He  believed  profoundly 
in  the  divine  right.  In  the  assurance  of  his  own  infal- 
libility he  seemed  to  admit  no  limit  to  his  own  freedom 
of  action. 

He  believed  that  the  future  of  his  country  was  in  his 
hands.  It  was  in  order  to  conserve  it  that  he  had  come 
to  England  in  this  singular  and  unexpected  manner. 
Having  chosen  a  Royal  Consort  for  his  only  daughter, 
she  whose  act  of  revolt  was  but  a  manifestation  of 
sovereignty  carried  to  a  higher  power,  he  was  prepared 
come  what  may  to  enforce  his  will. 

All  through  this  little  history  I  have  tried  to  show 
how  comedy  strove  with  tragedy  as  the  play  was  un- 
folded. The  spectators  were  never  quite  sure  which 
way  the  cat  would  jump.  Infinite  opportunity  for 
laughter  was  provided,  but  underneath  this  merriment 
lay  that  which  was  too  deep  for  tears.  Viewed  upon 
the  surface,  the  precipitation  into  our  midst  of  such  an 
elemental  figure  as  Ferdinand  the  Twelfth  was  food 
for  an  inextinguishable  jest,  but  the  reverse  of  the 
medal  must  not  be  overlooked. 

Every  hour  the  King  spent  under  our  roof  was  a 
slow-drawn  torture  for  Fitz  and  his  wife.  Holding  the 
romantic  belief  that  they  were  twin-souls  whom  destiny 
had  linked  irrevocably  together  they  were  everything  to 
one  another.  But  running  counter  to  it  were  those 
incalculable  hereditary  forces  which  the  King  with  in- 


THE  FATHER  OF  HIS  PEOPLE         279 

comparable  power  and  address  was  marshalling  against 
it. 

Now  was  the  time  for  the  Princess  to  yield.  In  his 
own  person  the  King  had  come  to  demand  of  her  that 
once  and  for  all  she  should  take  up  the  burden  of  her 
heritage.  If  now  she  declined  to  heed,  the  days  of  the 
Monarchy  were  numbered. 

It  was  only  too  clear  to  us  onlookers  that  a  terrible 
contest  was  being  waged.  In  two  or  three  brief  days 
the  Princess  seemed  worn  to  a  shadow ;  the  look  of  wild- 
ness  was  again  in  her  eyes ;  her  whole  bearing  confessed 
an  overwhelming  mental  stress. 

Fitz  also  suffered  greatly.  And  his  travail  was  not 
rendered  less  by  the  fact  that  Ferdinand  did  not  scruple 
to  make  a  personal  appeal. 

About  the  third  night  of  this  ordeal,  Fitz  accom- 
panied me  to  my  quarters  over  the  stables. 

"Arbuthnot,"  he  said,  sinking  into  a  chair,  "I  have 
been  thinking  this  thing  out  as  well  as  I  can  with  the 
help  of  Ferdinand,  and  he  has  made  me  see  that  my 
rights  in  the  matter  are  not  quite  what  I  thought  they 
were.  I  do  not  complain.  He  has  talked  to  me  as  a 
father  might  to  a  son,  and  he  has  brought  me  to  see 
that  our  position  in  the  sight  of  God  may  not  be  quite 
what  we  judged  it  to  be." 

I  was  hardly  prepared  for  such  a  speech  on  the  lips 
of  Fitz.  That  it  should  fall  from  them  so  simply  gave 
me  an  enlarged  idea  of  the  forces  that  were  being 
brought  to  bear  upon  him. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A  WALK  IN  THE  GARDEN 

IN  THE  last  resort  the  issue  lay  with  Sonia.  Her 
husband  had  the  wisdom  to  recognise  that;  although 
his  own  happiness  was  at  stake,  the  matter  was  beyond 
the  restricted  sphere  of  the  personal  equation. 

In  the  crisis  of  his  fate  it  has  always  seemed  to  me 
that  Fitz  displayed  the  inherent  nobility  of  his  char- 
acter. Once  the  King,  with  immense  force  and  cogency, 
had  revealed  the  situation  in  its  true  aspect,  his  son-in- 
law,  without  abating  a  single  claim  to  his  wife's  con- 
sideration, yet  refrained  from  unduly  exercising  the 
prerogative  conferred  upon  him  by  their  spiritual 
affinity. 

It  was  wise  and  right  that  Fitz  should  detach  himself 
as  far  as  possible  from  the  conflict  that  was  being 
waged  between  father  and  daughter.  But,  although  he 
did  what  lay  in  his  power  to  simplify  the  issue,  he  could 
not  banish  the  image  of  himself  from  his  wife's  heart. 
He  furnished  the  motive  power  of  her  existence.  Emo- 
tion held  the  master-key  to  her  nature.  In  any  conflict 
between  love  and  duty,  love  could  hardly  fail  to  win. 

Fitz  suffered  intensely  as  the  struggle  went  on.  He 
even  threw  out  a  hint  to  me  that  he  might  be  tempted 
to  take  a  certain  step  to  help  his  wife  to  a  possible 
solution  of  the  problem. 

280 


A  WALK  IN  THE  GARDEN  281 

"The  longer  this  goes  on,"  he  said  to  me  in  the  small 
hours  of  the  morning,  "the  more  clearly  I  realise  that 
Sonia's  place  is  with  her  own  people.  I  have  been  blind, 
and  I  have  been  mad,  and  I  owe  it  to  Ferdinand  that  I 
have  been  able  to  see  myself  in  my  true  relation  to  the 
issue  in  which  fate  has  involved  us.  It  is  six  years  since 
I  first  saw  Sonia  on  the  terrace  of  the  Castle  at  Blaenau. 
I  was  travelling  about  the  world  trying  to  find  ease  for 
my  soul.  I  knew  that  she  was  unhappy,  and  she  knew 
that  I  was,  but  we  were  young  and  not  afraid.  We  met 
continually,  for  I  gained  the  entree  to  the  Castle  as  the 
grandson  of  the  Elector  of  Gracow,  whose  daughter 
married  my  grandfather,  George  Fitzwaren  of  tragic 
memory. 

"We  used  to  sit  out  on  the  Castle  terrace,  Sonia  and 
I,  night  after  night,  watching  the  stars  in  their  courses, 
while  her  father  dragooned  his  parliament  and  hood- 
winked his  people.  She  was  lonely,  outcast  and  un- 
loved; there  was  none  to  whom  she  could  speak  her 
thoughts;  she  was  oppressed  with  the  sense  of  her 
destiny. 

"She  said  that  when  she  first  met  me  she  wondered 
where  she  had  seen  me  before.  She  said  that  my  pres- 
ence haunted  her  like  a  half-remembered  vision,  until  it 
began  to  merge  itself  into  her  dreams  of  a  former  exist- 
ence and  a  happier  state.  And  as  she  said  this,  her 
voice  grew  strangely  familiar.  For  me  it  unlocked  the 
doors  of  memory.  It  was  like  the  faint,  far-off  music 
you  can  hear  sometimes,  the  music  of  the  wind  in  winter 
sweeping  across  infinite,  illimitable  space. 

"She  allowed  me  to  kiss  her,  and  we  knew  then  we 


282  MRS.    FITZ 

held  the  key  to  the  riddle  of  existence.  We  were  twin- 
souls  made  one  again,  and  together  we  would  go 
through  all  time  and  all  eternity. 

"But  I  think  we  are  beginning  now  to  realise  that  the 
sense  of  oneness  is  alien  to  the  human  state,  and  that 
the  hour  is  at  hand  when  we  must  separate  and  go  out 
again  into  the  night  of  ages  alone." 

In  a  condition  of  desolation  the  unhappy  man  rocked 
his  meagre  body  to  and  fro  as  thus  he  spoke. 

"If  it  will  really  help  her,"  he  said,  "I  think  I  shall 
put  an  end  to  my  present  life.  At  least,  I  shall  ask 
Ferdinand  to  do  it,  for  I  doubt  whether  any  man  in  the 
true  enjoyment  of  his  reason  has  really  the  power  to  do 
it  for  himself.  And  yet,  perhaps  one  ought  not  to  say 
that.  So  much  can  be  done  by  prayer." 

"Surely  it  is  contrary  to  the  will  of  God?"  I  said 
with  a  kind  of  horror. 

"It  is,  undoubtedly,"  said  Fitz,  "as  regards  humanity 
at  large.  But  it  sometimes  happens  you  know  that  one 
among  us  plays  the  game  up  so  high  that  he  gets  a 
special  decree.  I  almost  think,  Arbuthnot,  that  I  have 
heard  the  Voice — and  if  I  have,  my  unhappy  Sonia 
will  be  able  to  go  back  to  her  people  for  a  term,  and  I 
shall  ask  you,  as  my  oldest  friend,  a  man  whom  my 
instincts  tell  me  to  trust,  to  accept  the  charge  of  my 
little  daughter." 

To  one  poised  delicately  upon  the  plane  of  reason 
such  a  speech  could  not  fail  to  be  shocking.  But  it 
was  so  sincere,  so  reasoned,  the  holder  of  these  views 
was  so  entirely  the  captain  of  his  soul,  that  his  words,  as 
he  uttered  them,  seemed  to  derive  a  kind  of  sanction 


A  WALK  IN  THE  GARDEN  283 

which  as  I  commit  them  to  paper  they  do  not  appear  to 
possess. 

The  counsel  of  one  man  to  another  does  not  amount 
to  much  in  those  cases  where  the  subject-matter  of  their 
discussion  has  been  already  referred  to  the  High  Court. 
But  I  felt  that  I  should  be  unfaithful  to  the  elements 
that  formed  my  own  nature,  acutely  conscious  as  I 
was  of  their  imperfect  development,  if  I  did  not  seek 
to  give  them  some  sort  of  an  expression  at  such  a  mo- 
ment as  this. 

"Fitz,"  I  said,  "I  can  claim  no  right  to  address  you, 
except  as  a  younger  brother.  You  belong  to  a  higher 
order  of  beings ;  your  life  is  more  developed  than  mine, 
but  I  ask  you  in  the  name  of  God  to  refrain  from  the 
step  you  contemplate,  unless  you  are  absolutely  con- 
vinced, beyond  any  possibility  of  error,  that  there  is  no 
other  way  out." 

The  unhappy  man  made  no  reply.  His  face  had 
begun  to  seem  unrecognisable. 

I  rose  involuntarily  from  the  chair  in  which  I  sat. 

"Let  us  walk  in  the  garden,"  I  said. 

The  suggestion  appeared  to  shape  itself  on  my  lips, 
regardless  of  the  will's  volition.  It  was,  perhaps,  a 
recovered  fragment  of  man's  heritage  floating  down- 
wards from  the  past. 

I  opened  the  door  and  we  went  downstairs  into  the 
garden.  It  was  the  middle  of  the  night;  what  there 
was  of  the  moon  was  almost  wholly  obscured;  the  air 
was  mild  with  the  purity  of  recent  rain.  Up  and  down 
the  wet  lawns  we  walked,  bareheaded  and  in  our  slip- 
pered feet. 


284  MRS.    FITZ 

Suddenly  lights  flashed  upon  us  out  of  the  shrubbery. 

"It  is  all  right,"  I  called.  "Do  not  disturb  us.  Go 
into  another  part  of  the  grounds." 

The  voice  seemed  unlike  my  own,  but  the  watchers 
obeyed  it. 

Nature  exhorted  us  as  we  walked  in  the  garden.  Her 
purity,  her  calm,  the  incommunicable  magic  of  her 
spaciousness,  the  thrall  of  her  splendour  entered  our 
veins.  We  were  her  children,  flesh  of  her  flesh,  bone  of 
her  bone.  The  mighty  Mother  spoke  to  us. 

A  little  wind  moved  softly  among  the  gaunt  branches 
of  a  pine. 

"I  must  make  quite  sure  that  the  Voice  has  spoken 
to  me,"  said  Fritz. 

The  unhappy  man  walked  to  the  pine  tree,  knelt  down 
and  seemed  involuntarily  to  shroud  his  face  with  his 
hands. 

I  shrank  back  and  turned  away. 

Quite  suddenly  my  heart  leapt  with  surprise  and  dis- 
may. An  unexpected  and  sinister  presence  was  by  my 
side. 

"I  pity  dat  poor  fellow,"  said  a  voice  softly.  "I  pity 
dem  both." 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  King. 

Habited  in  a  voluminous  mantle,  the  Victor  of 
Rodova  linked  his  arm  through  mine  in  his  paternal 
manner. 

"Come,  my  friend,"  he  said  in  a  voice  of  urgent  kind- 
liness, "let  us  walk  in  the  garden." 

Together  we  walked  over  the  lawns,  the  King  and  I, 
with  slow  and  measured  steps. 


A  WALK  IN  THE  GARDEN  285 

"It  is  a  beautiful  night"— Ferdinand  the  Twelfth 
took  off  his  hat. 

"God  is  in  His  heaven,  sir,"  I  said  softly. 

"You  are  a  God-fearing  people,"  said  the  King; 
"that  is  a  good  thing.  What  can  we  do  in  the  world 
without  the  fear  of  God?  This  night  reminds  me  of 
the  night  before  Rodova.  It  was  just  like  this,  a  calm, 
soft  air,  a  little  moist.  You  could  hear  the  wind  creep- 
ing softly  among  the  pine-trees.  At  the  bottom  of  your 
garden  there  was  the  gentle  noise  of  a  little  river.  All 
night  the  little  fishes  were  leaping  and  playing  in  its 
clear  waters,  and  living  their  lives  joyously  as  it  seemed 
good  to  them.  And  beyond  the  river  were  the  Aus- 
trians,  sixty  thousand  men  with  horses  and  cannons. 

"The  God  of  Armies  had  given  the  soul  of  my  coun- 
try into  my  care.  Was  she  to  remain  a  free  and  inde- 
pendent people  as  she  had  been  since  the  time  of  Alvan 
the  First,  or  was  she  to  be  trampled  under  the  heel  of 
the  oppressor?  All  night  I  walked  in  the  garden,  and 
I  remember  I  knelt  down  under  the  pine-tree  yonder, 
as  our  friend  is  doing  there.  It  is  a  wonderful  thing 
how  history  keeps  happening  over  again." 

The  King's  voice  had  grown  hushed  and  solemn. 

"To-night  is  another  crisis  in  the  history  of  our  coun- 
try. I  am  older  than  I  seem;  there  is  a  voice  within 
which  tells  me  that  my  course  is  almost  run.  That  is 
why  I  have  come  to  speak  with  my  daughter.  It  is  the 
business  of  us  Svelkes  to  hold  the  balance  in  the  scales 
of  destiny.  Since  the  time  of  Alvan  the  First  there  has 
been  an  unbroken  line  of  monarchy;  perhaps  it  is  de- 
creed that  it  shall  end  to-night.  But  yet  I  cannot  think 


286  MRS.    FITZ 

that.  The  unseen  power  which  enabled  us  to  withstand 
the  might  of  Austria  will  invest  my  daughter  with 
wisdom  and  grace." 

There  was  a  footfall  on  the  soft  turf,  and  we  turned 
to  find  that  Fitz  had  joined  us. 

"Ha!  Nevil,"  said  the  King  in  a  voice  of  paternal 
tenderness.  "I  was  explaining  to  our  good  friend  how 
this  night  reminds  me  of  the  eve  of  Rodova.  Our  lady 
the  moon  was  in  her  present  quarter;  yonder  was 
Mars,  blood-red  on  the  eastern  horizon.  There  behind 
us  was  Jupiter,  exactly  as  we  see  him  to-night ;  but  on 
the  night  of  Rodova  Uranus  was  not  visible.  It  was  a 
grave  crisis  in  the  history  of  our  country ;  to-night  is 
a  grave  crisis  also,  for  I  feel  that  a  term  has  been 
placed  to  my  days.  But  I  walked  all  night  in  the  gar- 
den, and  I  knelt  down  beneath  a  single  pine-tree,  and 
the  God  of  Armies  spoke  to  me.  'Fear  nothing,'  said 
the  God  of  Armies.  'At  the  break  of  day,  cross  the 
river  that  flows  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden,  and  all 
will  be  well.'  " 

The  light  of  the  moon  fell  upon  the  King's  face. 
That  smiling  and  subtle  visage  looked  strangely  lumin- 
ous. 

"An  hour  before  daybreak,"  the  King  went  on, 
"Parlowitz  came  to  me.  'Weissmann  has  come  up  in 
the  night,'  he  said,  'with  twenty  thousand  men.  If  we 
cross  the  river,  all  is  lost.'  'Fear  nothing,  Parlowitz,' 
I  said.  'At  daybreak  we  cross  the  river.  The  God  of 
Armies  would  have  it  so.'  'Then,  sire,'  said  Parlowitz, 
'give  this  to  my  wife  when  next  you  see  her' — Parlowitz 
unfastened  the  collar  of  his  tunic  and  took  off  a  locket 


A  WALK  IN  THE  GARDEN  287 

which  he  wore  round  his  neck — 'and  tell  her  that  it  is 
my  wish  that  our  second  son  John  should  succeed  to 
my  estate.'  I  then  bade  adieu  to  Parlowitz,  for  he 
would  have  it  so ;  and  as  the  dawn  was  breaking  he  was 
shot  through  the  breast  at  the  head  of  his  division.  But 
that  was  a  glorious  day  in  the  annals  of  the  Illyrian 
people ;  and  you,  my  dear  Nevil,  will  have  seen  the  noble 
statue  that  has  been  raised  to  the  memory  of  Parlowitz 
on  the  terrace  at  Blaenau." 

"I  have  seen  the  statue,"  said  Fitz  calmly.  "A  monu- 
ment of  piety,  but  abominable  as  a  work  of  art." 

"It  is  the  work  of  the  best  sculptor  in  Illyria,"  said 
the  King. 

"There  are  no  sculptors  in  Illyria,"  said  Fitz  bluntly. 

The  King  fell  into  a  muse.  I  was  sensible  of  Fitz's 
grip  upon  my  arm. 

"It  is  wonderful,"  said  the  King  softly,  "how  history 
continues  to  happen  over  again.  I  seem  to  hear  the 
voice  again  in  the  upper  air:  'At  daybreak,  cross  the 
river  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden,  and  all  will  be  well.' ' 

The  grip  upon  my  arm  grew  tighter. 

"Do  not  leave  me,"  said  Fitz  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

All  night  long  the  three  of  us  walked  up  and  down 
the  lawns  before  the  house.  In  one  of  the  upper  win- 
dows was  a  light.  It  was  Sonia's  room. 

Few  words  passed  between  us,  and  in  the  main  it  was 
th'e  King  who  spoke.  Never  once  did  Fitz  relax  his  grip 
upon  my  arm.  Indeed,  as  the  hours  passed,  it  seemed  to 
grow  more  tense.  It  had  the  convulsive  tenacity  of  one 
who  in  the  last  extremity  fights  to  keep  the  body  united 
to  the  soul. 


288  MRS.    FITZ 

Even  I,  who  make  no  claim  to  be  highly  sensitised, 
was  susceptible  of  the  ominous  challenge  of  the  force 
that  was  enfolding  us.  Silence  was  even  more  terrible 
than  speech. 

"For  God's  sake  do  not  leave  me !"  said  my  unhappy 
friend  in  a  whisper  of  terror. 

At  last  the  first  faint  pencillings  of  the  dawn  began 
to  declare  themselves  in  the  upper  air.  My  slippered 
feet  were  soaked  and  my  teeth  were  chattering  with  the 
chill  of  the  morning.  A  curious  sensation,  which  I  had 
never  felt  before,  began  to  steal  over  me.  With  a  thrill 
of  suffocating,  incommunicable  horror  I  began  slowly 
to  realise  that  I  was  no  longer  the  master  of  myself. 

Fitz's  convulsed  grip  was  still  upon  my  arm,  but  the 
sense  of  him  had  grown  remote.  He  was  slipping 
farther  and  farther  away. 

"Hold  me !"  he  whispered ;  and  again  "hold  me !" 
The  stifled  voice  was  like  that  of  one  in  whose  company 
I  was  drowning. 

The  voice  of  the  King  sounded  quite  near,  although 
it  was  with  dull  stupefaction  that  I  heard  his  words. 

"The  day  is  breaking.  The  river  flows  at  the  bottom 
of  the  garden." 

The  fingers  of  my  friend  no  longer  encircled  my  arm. 
In  the  half-light  I  saw  the  King  produce  a  revolver 
from  the  folds  of  his  mantle.  He  handed  it  to  Fitz 
with  a  paternal,  almost  deprecating  gesture,  and  we 
were  both  powerless  to  deny  him.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
I  was  standing  outside  all  that  was  happening.  The 
sense  of  distance  appeared  ever  to  increase. 

I  witnessed  the  King  kiss  the  forehead  of  his  son-in- 


A  WALK  IN  THE  GARDEN  289 

law,  and  heard  him  give  him  his  blessing.  Then  I 
seemed  to  hear  the  voice  of  Fitz  crying  piteously : 

"Sonia,  Sonia,  help  me!" 

"Look  over  there,"  said  the  King ;  "the  day  is  break- 
ing. It  is  another  glorious  sunrise  for  the  people  of 
Illyria." 

"Yes,  indeed,  sir,"  said  a  voice  that  broke  the  spell. 

The  prayer  of  Fitz  had  been  heard.  Sonia  had  come 
unperceived  into  our  midst. 

"I  have  come  to  taste  the  morning,  it  is  so  good," 
she  said.  "And  you,  how  early  you  have  risen!" 

The  King  laughed.  He  seemed  to  enfold  his  daugh- 
ter with  that  visage  of  smiling  subtlety. 

"We  have  been  walking  in  the  garden,  my  friends 
and  I,"  he  said.  "We  have  had  a  pleasant  talk  to- 
gether. The  position  of  the  stars  reminded  me  of  the 
eve  of  Rodova,  except  that  Uranus  was  not  with  us.  It 
is  always  well  to  know  the  position  of  Uranus." 

I  felt  Fitz  slip  the  revolver  into  my  hand. 

"Come,"  he  said  in  his  tone  of  natural  decision,  "let 
us  go  and  have  a  bath  and  get  ready  for  breakfast." 

While  the  King  continued  to  discourse  amiably  with 
his  daughter  we  made  our  escape. 

In  the  privacy  of  my  room  over  the  stables  we  re- 
moved the  cartridges  from  the  revolver. 

Fitz  handed  the  weapon  to  me. 

"Keep  it,"  said  he,  "as  a  memento  of  Ferdinand  the 
Twelfth.  I  should  have  crossed  the  river  if  Sonia  had 
not  heard  my  call." 

Fitz  shivered ;  but  in  his  haggard  face  I  thought  that 
reason  and  sanity  were  still  enthroned. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

PROVIDES  A  LITTLE  FEMININE  DIVERSION 

AT  THE  breakfast  table,  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  was  moved 
to  inquire  of  our  distinguished  guest  whether  he  would 
care  to  meet  some  of  our  friends  and  neighbours  at 
dinner.  His  incognito  should  be  preserved  rigidly ;  and 
perhaps  a  few  fresh  faces  would  serve  to  lighten  the 
tedium  of  his  stay  in  our  midst.  The  King  assented  to 
the  proposal  with  his  usual  hearty  good-humour. 

Personally  I  was  deeply  grateful  to  Mrs.  Arbuthnot 
for  having  had  the  inspiration  to  make  it.  I  was  pre- 
pared to  welcome  anything  that  would  withdraw  me 
from  the  perilous  altitudes  upon  which  I  had  been  walk- 
ing throughout  the  night.  I  might  be  said  to  yearn  for 
anything  that  could  re-attach  me  to  the  humbler  plane 
of  men  and  things,  in  whose  familiarity  lay  mental 
security. 

After  breakfast,  however,  when  I  came  to  discuss 
this  apparently  innocent  proposal  with  Mrs.  Arbuthnot, 
it  was  clear  that  something  lurked  behind  it. 

"I  have  got  a  little  plan,  you  know,"  said  she,  with  a 
plaintive  childlike  air.  "They  have  all  been  so  uppish 
with  me  lately  that  I  have  thought  of  a  little  plan  of 
scoring  them  off  properly." 

290 


PROVIDES  A  DIVERSION  291 

"By  asking  them  to  meet  royalty  and  giving  them 
an  excellent  dinner?" 

"There  shall  be  nothing  wrong  with  the  dinner,"  said 
Mrs.  Arbuthnot,  "but  it  ought  to  be  very  amusing. 
I  shall  drive  round  to  Mary's  at  once  and  ask  her  to 
forgive  the  short  notice,  but  Sonia's  father  has  unex- 
pectedly turned  up  and,  much  against  our  will,  we  are 
having  to  entertain  him." 

"Where  is  the  jest?  The  bald  and  painful  truth  is 
seldom  amusing." 

"Goose!  As  they  are  all  convinced  that  Sonia  was 
formerly  a  circus-rider  in  Vienna,  what  can  be  more 
natural  than  that  her  father  is  the  proprietor  of  the 
circus  ?" 

"True,  madame.  But  how  will  you  explain  away 
his  title?" 

"It  will  be  the  simplest  thing  out.  You  can  always 
buy  a  title  in  Illyria,  like  you  can  here.  The  old  circus 
man  has  made  a  fortune  and  purchased  a  title  accord- 
ingly." 

I  confessed  that  that  had  a  fairly  plausible  sound. 

"They  will  swallow  it,  see  if  they  don't,"  said  Mrs. 
Arbuthnot,  giving  an  ever  freer  rein  to  her  invention. 
"And  the  old  circus  man  is  really  too  funny,  and  if 
Mary  Catesby  and  Laura  Glendinning  and  George  and 
the  Vicar  and  Mrs.  Vicar,  and  that  pushing  little  Amer- 
ican would  like  to  see  for  themselves,  we  shall  be  very 
glad  for  them  to  dine  here  to-morrow  evening.  And," 
concluded  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  in  a  tone  in  which  childlike 
conviction  and  a  natural  love  of  mischief  were  excel- 
lently blended,  "just  see  if  they  don't,  that's  all!" 


292  MRS.    FITZ 

"But  why,  my  child?  I  confess  that  I  cannot  see 
any  particular  charm  in  such  an  entertainment." 

"They  will  come,  if  only  to  score  us  off  afterwards, 
you  goose.  You  don't  know  them  as  well  as  I  do." 

I  confessed  that  I  did  not. 

Mrs.  Arbuthnot  lost  no  time  in  driving  round  to  her 
friends  and  returned  in  high  glee  with  them  all  in  her 
net. 

"What  did  I  say!"  she  declaimed  triumphantly.  "I 
called  first  on  Mary.  I  knew  if  I  persuaded  her,  the 
rest  would  be  easy.  Well,  you  know  her  little  way.  She 
read  me  a  terrible  lecture  about  the  duties  of  my  posi- 
tion. As  the  wife  of  the  member,  my  responsibilities 
were  simply  enormous.  Not  on  any  account  would  she 
sit  down  at  the  same  table  as  Mrs.  Fitz.  But  I  drew 
such  a  fancy  portrait  of  the  old  circus  man  and  of  his 
friend  the  ring-master,  who  was  almost  as  funny  as 
himself,  that  I  got  her  to  consent.  So  she  and  George 
are  coming." 

"Mischievous  monkey !" 

"Then  I  went  on  to  the  Vicarage.  The  Vicar  had  no 
engagement,  but  he  hummed  and  hawed,  until  I  told 
him  Mary  was  coming,  so  he  is  coming  too,  and  he  is 
going  to  bring  Lavinia.  Then  there  will  be  Laura  and 
the  little  American  and  Reggie  Brasset,  and  Jodey,  of 
course.  We  shall  be  quite  a  family  party,  and  it  ought 
to  be  tremendous  fun." 

"Won't  Brasset  and  Jodey  be  rather  flies  in  your 
ointment  ?  Don't  they  know  your  guilty  secret  ?" 

"I  shall  tell  them  all  about  it,  of  course,  and  they 
will  help  us  to  carry  it  off.  And  I  mean  to  ask  Colonel 


PROVIDES  A  DIVERSION  293 

Coverdale  to  come  too.  He  will  like  to  meet  the  King, 
and  we  must  persuade  him  not  to  give  us  away." 

I  was  in  no  mood  to  give  free  play  to  whatever  I  may 
have  in  the  way  of  a  sense  of  humour.  But  Mrs.  Ar- 
buthnot's  scheme,  doubtful  as  it  was  on  the  score  of 
morality,  had  at  least  the  merit  of  diverting  the  current 
of  my  thoughts  into  another  channel.  It  certainly  did 
something  to  lessen  the  tension. 

Mrs.  Arbuthnot  laid  her  plans  with  considerable  pre- 
caution. She  had  a  long  and  extremely  animated  con- 
versation over  the  telephone  with  the  Chief  Constable. 
I  could  almost  hear  the  great  man  growl  and  chuckle  as 
she  expounded  her  wicked  design.  But  in  the  end  he 
was  unable  to  resist  her  and  he  was  in  her  net  as  well. 
Jodey  and  Brasset,  of  course,  were  only  too  eager  to 
lend  a  hand,  and  both  agreed  with  her  "that  they  all 
deserved  to  be  scored  off  properly."  Personally,  the 
workings  of  the  "scoring-off"  process  were  a  little  too 
much  for  my  enfeebled  mental  system,  but  I  was  in- 
formed peremptorily  that  I  always  was  a  dull  dog. 

Determined  to  leave  nothing  to  chance,  Mrs.  Arbuth- 
not even  went  to  the  length  of  taking  Fitz  into  her 
confidence. 

"You  know,  Nevil,"  she  said  engagingly,  "how  they 
have  behaved  to  Sonia  and  what  they  have  said  about 
her  behind  her  back." 

"What  have  they  said?"  Fitz's  indifference  bordered 
upon  the  sublime. 

"Why,  don't  you  know?"  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  trans- 
fixed the  Man  of  Destiny  with  starlike  orbs.  "Don't 
you  know  that  when  Laura  Glendinning  found  out  that 


294  MRS.    FITZ 

Sonia  rides  just  as  straight  as  she  does  and  that  she 
looks  much  smarter,  it  made  her  frightfully  jealous?" 

"Did  it  indeed !"  grunted  the  Man  of  Destiny. 

"And  can  you  believe,  Nevil,"  the  starlike  orbs  grew 
ever  rounder  and  more  luminous,  "she  circulated  the 
story  that  dear  Sonia  was  a  circus-rider  from  Vienna !" 

"Oh,  really !"  Fitz  concealed  a  yawn  in  a  rather  per- 
functory manner. 

"And  what  is  more,  she  got  everybody  to  believe  it." 

Fitz's  boredom  was  dissembled  with  a  smile  of  twelve 
horse  power  politeness. 

"And  so,  to  score  them  off,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot, 
rising  to  pleasantly  histrionic  heights,  "I  have  invited 
the  ringleaders  to  dinner  to-night  to  meet  the  circus- 
rider's  father,  the  proprietor  of  the  circus,  who  has 
made  a  fortune  out  of  his  show  and  has  bought  himself 
a  title,  as,  of  course,  you  can  in  Illyria.  And  Baron 
von  Schalk  is  the  ring-master  of  his  circus." 

The  Man  of  Destiny  guffawed  with  languid  in- 
efficiency and  declared  that  the  plot  was  like  a  comic 
opera.  In  my  private  ear  he  recorded  an  opinion  sub- 
sequently to  which  it  would  be  hardly  kind  to  give 
publicity. 

"Nobody  but  a  woman  would  have  thought  of  it,"  he 
said.  "If  it  turns  out  to  be  funny,  so  be  it,  but  I  must 
say  it  looks  like  spoiling  a  good  meal — you've  got  a 
tophole  cook,  old  son — and  making  things  damned  un- 
comfortable for  everybody." 

I  adjured  Fitz,  who,  like  myself,  was  evidently  in  no 
mood  to  appreciate  refined  humour,  to  wait  and  see. 
Lieutenant-Colonel  John  Chalmers  Coverdale,  C.M.G., 


PROVIDES  A  DIVERSION  295 

late  of  his  Majesty's  Carabineers,  was  the  first  to 
arrive. 

"Sailing  rather  near  the  wind,  aren't  you?"  was  his 
greeting  to  his  hostess,  who  in  her  best  gown  was  a 
ravishing  example  of  picturesque  demureness. 

"I  think  it  will  go  all  right,"  said  she.  "Mary 
Catesby  and  George  will  be  too  killing." 

Certainly,  when  that  august  matron  arrived  she  was 
very  grande  dame  and  honest  George  five  feet  three 
inches  of  meticulous  good  breeding.  They  greeted  Fitz 
and  his  wife  with  a  distant  reverence.  Ferdinand  the 
Twelfth  and  his  famous  minister  had  not  yet  appeared 
upon  the  scene.  Most  of  their  day  had  been  spent  upon 
the  much-debated  Clause  Three  of  the  Illyrian  Land 
Bill. 

Eight  o'clock  is  the  hour  at  which  we  dine  in  the 
Crackanthorpe  country.  It  is  the  established  custom 
for  regular  followers  of  that  distinguished  pack  to  be 
extremely  hungry  at  that  hour.  As  the  presentation 
time-piece  chimed  the  hour  from  the  drawing-room 
chimney-piece,  there  was  a  full  muster  of  Mrs.  Arbuth- 
not's  dinner  guests:  the  Vicar  and  his  wife,  looking 
rather  pinched  and  formal,  their  invariable  attitude 
towards  public  life,  yet  the  Vicar  wearing  a  somewhat 
worldly  pair  of  shoes  of  patent  leather  and  equally 
worldly  mauve  socks  and  rather  short  trousers;  Miss 
Laura  Glendinning,  our  local  Diana,  who  looked  horse 
and  talked  horse  and  who  would  doubtless  have  eaten 
horse  had  it  been  in  the  menu;  my  charming  little 
friend,  the  relict  of  Josiah  P.  Perkins  of  Brownville, 
Mass. ;  the  noble  Master  enveloped  in  a  sartorial  master- 


296  MRS.    FITZ 

piece  and  a  frown  of  perplexity ;  his  aide-de-camp, 
Joseph  Jocelyn  De  Vere  Vane-Anstruther,  enveloped 
ditto,  but  leaning  up  not  ungracefully  against  a  corner 
of  the  chimney-piece  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  not 
looking  at  anybody,  not  speaking  to  anybody,  but  with 
a  covert  gaze  fixed  upon  the  drawing-room  door  in  quest 
of  early  information  in  regard  to  Ferdinand  the 
Twelfth. 

In  the  middle  of  the  salon  the  august  Mrs.  Catesby 
discussed  the  Minority  Report  with  the  vicar  of  the 
parish  and  Prison  Reform  with  the  Chief  Constable, 
whilst  I,  sharing  the  largest  and  most  comfortable  sofa 
with  Mrs.  Nevil  Fitzwaren,  had  to  answer  a  succession 
of  sympathetic  inquiries  in  regard  to  my  arm. 

"A  mere  scratch,"  everybody  was  assured.  "Lucky 
it  wasn't  worse.  Fact  is,  those  taxis  are  rather  dan- 
gerous." 

The  presentation  time-piece  chimed  a  quarter  past 
eight.  The  proprietor  of  the  Viennese  circus  and  his 
faithful  acolyte  were  yet  to  seek.  Romantic  figures  as 
they  doubtless  were — at  least,  there  was  the  authority 
of  the  hostess  that  such  was  their  nature — the  manner 
in  which  they  were  obstructing  the  serious  business  of 
life  was  hard  to  condone. 

Little  Mrs.  Josiah  P.  Perkins  came  up  to  our  sofa. 
She  gave  a  demure,  down-looking  glance  at  the  fair 
equestrienne  seated  by  my  side,  who  was  decidedly  piano, 
which  of  course  was  as  it  should  be,  and  made  the 
plaintive  confession,  "I  am  so  hungry.  I  wouldn't  mind 
the  hind  leg  off  that  satinwood  table." 

"You  have  full  permission  to  have  it,"  said  I. 


PROVIDES  A  DIVERSION  297 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Josiah  P.  Perkins,  "it  would 
spoil  the  suite.  But  hardly  any  breakfast,  a  sandwich 
at  the  Top  Covert,  in  which  there  was  hardly  any  hog, 
one  cup  of  tea  at  the  Vicarage,  and  you  know  what 
that  is,  and  now — oh  dear! 

In  these  harrowing  circumstances  I  conceived  it  to 
be  my  duty  to  find  out  what  was  toward.  I  yielded  my 
place  to  Mrs.  Josiah  P.  Perkins,  and  as  she  collapsed 
into  it,  I  heard  her  say,  "I  suppose  if  you  once  get  a 
cinch  on  circuses  you  make  a  regular  pile  right  soon?" 

But  as  I  made  to  go  forth  in  search  of  Ferdinand  the 
Twelfth,  lo  and  behold !  that  monarch  came  in  with  his 
minister.  He  was  wearing  no  orders,  there  was  nothing 
to  enhance  or  to  distort  his  personality,  but  it  struck 
me  that  his  bearing  had  a  simple  majesty  beyond  that 
of  any  person  I  had  ever  seen. 

"Make  our  apologies,  milady,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice, 
which  was  yet  quite  audible  to  most  in  the  room,  since 
upon  his  entrance  the  conversation  had  been  suspended 
automatically.  "That  mad  Dutchman  is  waving  his 
torch  over  the  powder  keg,  and  we  had  forgotten  the 
time." 

And  then,  with  the  greatest  simplicity  and  good- 
nature, he  started  to  make  a  tour  of  the  room,  shaking 
each  man  by  the  hand  heartily,  saying  "Very  pleased  to 
meet  you,  sir,"  and  bowing  to  each  lady  in  turn  with 
smiling  gravity.  He  then  gave  the  hostess  his  arm. 

At  the  table  I  had  Mrs.  Catesby  on  my  right  hand, 
Mrs.  Josiah  P.  Perkins  on  my  left. 

"What  a  lovely  man !"  said  Charybdis  on  the  left. 


298  MRS.    FITZ 

"I  don't  believe,"  said  Scylla,  "that  he  has  any  con- 
nection with  a  circus  whatever." 

"He  is  Mrs.  Fitz's  father,  anyhow." 

"What  is  his  name?" 

"Count  Zhygny,  but  titles  are  cheap  in  Illyria." 

"It  is  a  noble  head,"  said  the  great  lady. 

"Objective  criticism  is  proverbially  unsafe,"  I 
hazarded.  "His  daughter  has  a  noble  face." 

"He  is  just  bully,"  Charybdis  was  waxing  enthusias- 
tic. "Quite  Bawston." 

The  great  lady  addressed  herself  in  grim  earnest  to 
the  serious  business  of  life,  and  I  am  bound  to  say — 
although  doubtless  I  am  the  wrong  person  to  insist  on 
the  fact — that  it  was  worthy  of  all  the  attention  that 
was  paid  to  it.  We  were  twenty-five  minutes  late  at 
the  post,  as  Jodey  had  complained  bitterly  to  his  host- 
ess, but  the  distinguished  chef  lately  in  the  service  of  a 
nobleman  had  fairly  excelled  himself.  Good-humour, 
nay,  even  cordiality,  reigned  all  along  the  line. 

"Are  those  pearls  real?"  said  an  imperious  whisper 
from  the  right. 

"I  am  not  a  judge  of  precious  stones,"  I  admitted, 
"although  in  the  process  of  time  I  think  I  shall  be." 

"One  can't  believe  they  are  real.  If  they  are,  they 
must  be  priceless.  What  a  wonderful  head  that  man 
has!  And  who,  pray,  is  the  other?" 

"Herr  Brouss  is  his  name.  The  circus-ring  is  his 
vocation." 

"I  once  met  a  distinguished  foreigner,  a  Baron  Some- 
body, a  great  politician  who  looked  exactly  like  that. 
It  was  at  Spa  or  one  of  those  foreign  watering-places. 


PROVIDES  A  DIVERSION  299 

By  the  way,  Odo,  what  did  the  other  man  mean  by  'the 
mad  Dutchman  is  waving  his  torch  over  the  powder- 
keg'?  I  see  in  the  paper  this  morning  that  relations 
are  strained  between  Germany  and  Illyria." 

"It  is  one  of  those  cryptic  phrases  to  which  we  have 
not  the  key." 

"What  a  delicious  entree!  This  is  coals  of  fire  with  a 
vengeance.  I  hope  you  are  not  living  beyond  your 
means." 

"Try  the  madeira — I  see  our  excellent  Vicar  has  dis- 
covered it.  I  am  wondering,  Mary,  whether  I  could 
win  a  little  support  again  in  high  places,  as  an  out-and- 
out  opponent  of  socialism  in  any  shape  or  form." 

"I  will  make  no  rash  promises,  Odo" — the  great  lady 
took  a  wary  sip  of  the  paternal  vintage — "but  I  will 
speak  to  dear  Evelyn  if  you  wish,  although  you  cer- 
tainly don't  deserve  to  be  forgiven." 

"I  hope  you  will  assure  her  that  no  one  has  a  pro- 
founder  veneration  for  a  poor  but  deserving  class." 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  Fitz  and  his  wife  remained 
silent  and  preoccupied,  the  progress  of  the  feast  was 
marked  by  a  temperate  gaiety.  The  hostess  was  on  the 
crest  of  the  wave.  She  made  no  attempt  to  veil  an 
almost  indecent  sense  of  triumph.  Precisely  why  she 
should  have  harboured  it  I  cannot  say,  but  she  betrayed 
all  the  outward  and  visible  signs  of  that  emotion. 
There  was  a  light  in  her  eye,  there  was  a  piquancy  about 
her  discourse,  there  was  a  deferential  archness  in  her 
attitude  towards  the  high  personages  by  whom  she  was 
surrounded,  which  communicated  themselves  to  the 


300  MRS.    FITZ 

whole  table.  In  response  to  her  sallies  the  reverbera- 
tions of  the  royal  laughter  were  loud  and  long. 

"Toppin'  good  sort,  ain't  he?"  said  my  relation  by 
marriage  in  a  moment  of  expansion  to  Miss  Laura 
Glendinning. 

"Who  is  a  toppin'  good  sort?"  said  that  literal 
Diana. 

"Why,  the  King,  of  course." 

"I  have  never  met  him,"  said  Diana. 

"Where,  pray,  did  you  meet  him,  Joseph?"  was  the 
severe  inquiry  of  the  Great  Lady  over  the  brim  of  her 
madeira. 

"In  the  paddock  at  Newmarket,"  said  the  young  fel- 
low, making  a  brilliant  recovery. 

"Fathead!"  said  the  noble  Master  in  a  whisper  of 
indulgent  languor.  "You  nearly  blewed  it  then." 

The  royal  laughter  continued  to  reverberate. 

"I  suppose  he  began  life  as  a  clown?"  said  the  Great 
Lady. 

"Nearly  all  these  circus  chaps  do,  don't  they?"  said 
Jodey,  who  nearly  suffered  misfortune  in  a  too  strenu- 
ous desire  to  preserve  his  gravity. 

"Or  as  a  bare-back  rider,"  said  I,  taking  up  the 
parable. 

"One  would  certainly  say  a  clown,"  said  the  Great 
Lady.  "Dear  me,  what  manners!" 

The  port  wine  had  appeared  and  had  been  duly  dis- 
pensed. At  this  precise  moment  Ferdinand  the  Twelfth 
was  giving  the  table-cloth  a  peremptory  tap.  He  rose, 
glass  in  hand. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,  my  good  friends,"  said  he, 


PROVIDES  A  DIVERSION  301 

"I  haf  one  toast  to  propose.  We  will  drink,  if  you 
please,  to  the  health  of  le  bon  roi  Edouard.  God  bless 
him!" 

Upon  the  Chief  Constable's  extremely  prompt  in- 
itiative the  company  did  not  hesitate  to  follow  the  Cir- 
cus Proprietor's  lead. 

"The  King!    God  bless  him!" 

This  incident,  which  the  Circus  Proprietor  had  in- 
vested with  such  authority  that  it  seemed  perfectly 
in  order,  nearly  led  to  the  undoing  of  Jodey  and  his 
noble  friend.  Overborne  by  the  emotion  of  the  moment, 
they  indulged  in  a  little  side  show  of  their  own.  The 
toast  of  le  bon  roi  Edouard,  having  been  honoured  in 
form,  the  rest  of  the  company  sat  down  at  once,  but 
our  two  sportsmen  remained  upon  their  feet.  Filling 
up  their  glasses,  they  turned  towards  the  illustrious 
guest  and  repeated  the  solemn  formula : 

"The  King !    God  bless  him !" 

"Sit  down,  you  asses,"  said  the  Chief  Constable  in  a 
truculent  undertone. 

Nevertheless,  the  proprietor  of  the  circus  bowed  to 
them  and  smiled  paternally. 

"One  shouldn't  look  for  too  much,"  said  the  Vicar, 
"but  I  think  the  old  fellow  is  a  bit  of  a  sportsman." 

"Not  at  all  a  bad  fellow,"  said  honest  George  ex- 
pansively. "Not  at  all  a  bad  fellow.  Not  at  all  a  bad 
fellow." 

However,  a  subtle  fear  lay  within  the  breast  of  a 
married  man,  a  father  of  a  family  and  a  county  mem- 
ber, lest  our  excellent  Vicar  had  spoken  in  excess  of  his 
knowledge.  I  foresaw  that  the  ordeal  by  fire  was  com- 


302  MRS.    FITZ 

ing.  When  the  ladies  left  the  room  desperation  urged 
me  to  bestow  a  pointed  hint  upon  the  Church. 

"Perhaps,  Vicar,"  I  said  plaintively,  "if  you  joined 
the  ladies?  Not  at  all  a  bad  fellow,  you  know,  not  at 
all  a  bad  fellow,  but  perhaps  not — er — altogether — 
don't  you  know!" 

"None  the  worse  for  that,"  said  the  hardest  riding 
parson  in  three  counties,  filling  up  his  glass  with  com- 
posure and  with  cordiality.  "If  you  think  the  old 
buffer  can  appreciate  a  yarn,  I  will  tell  that  old  one  of 
my  uncle  Jackson's.  It  is  rather  a  chestnut  these  days, 
but  perhaps  he  mayn't  have  heard  it." 

The  clerical  effort  was  by  no  means  vieux  jeu.  And 
it  is  only  just  to  the  Church  to  mention  that  the  style 
of  the  raconteur  compared  very  favourably  with  that 
he  affected  in  his  vocation.  Ferdinand  the  Twelfth  guf- 
fawed heartily,  and  replied  with  a  couple  of  masterpieces 
that  brought  the  blush  of  shame  to  the  cheek  of  mod- 
esty. I  am  afraid  there  was  only  one  cheek,  however, 
in  which  the  emblem  in  question  was  able  to  find 
sanctuary,  and  truth  compels  me  to  assert  that  it  was 
neither  that  of  the  Church  nor  the  Police. 

For  nearly  an  hour  by  the  clock  the  bottle  was  cir- 
culated and  we  were  royally  entertained.  Ferdinand 
had  had  a  rich  and  various  experience  of  life.  Much 
had  he  seen  and  done ;  he  had  made  and  unmade  history ; 
he  was  of  the  world,  he  loved  it  and  he  courted  it;  no 
personality  had  emerged  upon  the  European  chequer- 
board  during  the  past  half-century  of  whom  he  could 
not  discourse  out  of  a  full  and  intimate  knowledge.  If 
it  pleased  him,  he  could  pull  aside  the  curtain  and  dis- 


PROVIDES  A  DIVERSION  303 

close  the  showman  making  the  puppets  dance  in  the 
political  theatre. 

He  spoke  with  immense  gusto ;  his  zest  of  life  was 
magnificent,  and  somewhat  strangely  there  was  nothing 
cynical  or  ignoble  about  his  point  of  view.  For  the  best 
part  of  an  hour  he  held  the  least  wise  of  us  in  thrall. 
He  had  an  abundance,  an  overplus  of  nature,  and  subtle 
and  Jesuitical — for  want  of  a  happier  word — as  he 
doubtless  was,  there  was  something  humane  and  great- 
hearted about  him  as  a  man. 

He  gave  away  the  great  ones  of  the  earth,  showing 
them  in  their  habit  as  they  dwelt.  He  made  them  neither 
less  nor  more  than  they  were.  Naught  was  set  down 
in  malice,  but  his  anecdotes  mostly  had  a  Rabelaisian 
tang  which  sprang  from  a  prodigality  of  nature.  He 
was  a  great  and  not  unbeneficent  force  who  drained  the 
cup  of  life  to  the  lees,  smacked  his  lips  heartily,  and 
demanded  more.  His  philosophy  seemed  to  be  to  fear 
God  but  not  to  scruple  to  use  to  the  full  all  the  noble 
and  infinite  gifts  of  your  inheritance.  His  rule  of  con- 
duct, however,  was  not  to  measure  men  by  their  strength 
but  by  their  weakness.  "Every  man  has  his  blind  spot," 
he  said,  apropos  of  Bismarck.  "Find  it  and  he  is 
yours." 

Such  a  crowded  hour  of  wisdom,  wit  and  historic 
revelation  was  an  experience  that  even  a  dullard  was  not 
likely  to  forget.  George  Catesby  and  the  Vicar  alone 
were  unacquainted  with  the  identity  of  our  guest,  and  as 
far  as  they  were  concerned  the  cat  was  more  or  less  out 
of  the  bag. 

When  we  joined  the  ladies  we  found  that  card-tables 


304?  MRS.    FITZ 

had  been  set  out.  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  and  Coverdale  en- 
gaged Mrs.  Catesby  and  the  King.  No  one  watching 
the  play  could  fail  to  be  amused  by  the  Circus  Pro- 
prietor's caustic  but  good-humoured  reflections  upon 
the  performance  of  his  partner.  The  great  lady  bore 
it  all,  however,  with  a  stoical  humility.  To  my  surprise, 
she  cut  in  for  a  second  rubber,  and  her  demeanour  made 
it  clear  to  Jodey,  who  disdained  games  like  "britch"  and 
preferred  to  watch  the  royal  partie,  "that  she  smelt  a 
rat." 

"I  expect  the  show  has  pretty  well  given  itself  away 
by  now,"  he  said  in  an  aside  to  his  host,  "but  anyhow 
they  have  been  scored  off  properly." 

The  mystery  of  "scoring  off"  was  still  too  much  for 
my  inadequate  mental  processes.  But  I  gathered  that 
there  was  a  consensus  of  opinion  among  persons  of  a 
more  vivid  intellectual  cast  that  such  indeed  was  the 
case. 

"We  shan't  half  pull  her  leg,  I  don't  think"— in  the 
exuberance  of  the  hour  the  young  fellow  relapsed  into 
a  semi-lyrical  music-hall  comedy  vein — "about  the  old 
circus  johnny  who  drank  a  health  unto  his  Majesty. 
I  only  wish  old  Alec  had  been  here,  that's  all." 

"A  digger,  madame,  a  digger,"  said  the  Circus  Pro- 
prietor in  a  tone  of  humourous  expostulation  "when  you 
haf  not  a  treek !" 

The  Great  Lady  accepted  the  reproof  with  Christian 
meekness. 

It  was  not  until  hard  upon  midnight  that  the  depart- 
ing guest  was  sped  in  divers  chariots ;  the  Church  in 
the  identical  "one-hoss  shay"  of  inimitable  and  pious 


PROVIDES  A  DIVERSION  305 

memory.  "So  many  thanks,  Mrs.  Arbuthnot,  for  a 
really  memorable  evening,"  said  the  Church,  with  a  wave 
of  a  somewhat  unclerical  bowler. 

Plutocracy  in  the  little  person  of  Mrs.  Josiah  P.  Per- 
kins had  a  Daimler  of  sixty  horse-power.  She  gave  a 
lift  to  a  less  fortunate  sister  in  the  person  of  Miss 
Laura  Glendinning.  The  Great  Lady  and  the  excellent 
George,  "a  good  vintage  sound  but  dull,"  as  I  have 
heard  him  described  by  a  friend  and  neighbour,  had 
recourse  to  a  medium  of  travel  of  twelve  horse-power 
only,  as  became  the  representatives  of  our  sorely  im- 
poverished land-owning  class. 

"Such  a  success,  my  dear !"  said  the  Great  Lady,  be- 
stowing her  parting  blessing.  "But,"  in  a  voice  of 
mystery,  "I  shall  insist  upon  the  whole  thing  being 
cleared  up." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
THE  WRITING  ON  THE  WALL 

THE  morning  which  followed  these  tempered  gaieties 
was  cold  and  bright.  The  King  borrowed  my  nicest 
gun  and,  accompanied  by  his  son-in-law,  our  retainer 
Andrew  and  an  old  field  spaniel  who  answered  to  the 
name  of  Gyp,  proceeded  to  put  up  a  hare  or  two  in  the 
stubble  of  the  home  pasture.  My  physical  state  pre- 
cluded my  raising  a  gun  to  my  shoulder,  but  I  deemed 
it  wise  to  be  of  the  party.  Accidents  have  been  known 
to  occur,  and — but  perhaps  it  is  well  not  to  pursue  this 
vein  of  speculation. 

Destiny  is  a  vague  term  which  provides  the  veil  of 
decency  for  many  secrets,  and  firearms  have  often  been 
the  chosen  instruments  of  its  'decrees.  Doubtless  I  was 
growing  too  imaginative.  Certainly  the  adventures  I 
had  undergone  during  the  past  few  weeks  had  left  a 
mark  upon  my  nerves,  but  when  I  recalled  our  vigil, 
which  was  still  so  fresh  in  my  thoughts  as  to  seem 
strange  and  terrible,  I  could  not  view  the  prospect  of 
Ferdinand  the  Twelfth  and  his  dutiful  son-in-law  shar- 
ing the  innocent  pastime  of  a  little  rough  shooting  with- 
out a  secret  fear. 

I  am  glad  to  say  that  the  course  of  the  morning's 
sport  lent  no  colour  to  this  apprehension.  The  King 

306 


THE  WRITING  ON  THE  WALL         307 

was  an  excellent  shot,  and  even  a  strange  gun  made 
little  difference  to  his  prowess.  He  displayed  both 
science  and  accuracy.  But  to  see  him  standing  cheek 
by  jowl  with  Fitz,  each  with  a  cocked  weapon  in  his 
hand ;  to  watch  them  scramble  through  gaps  and  over 
stiles  and  five-barred  gates,  for  in  spite  of  his  years  and 
his  physique  Ferdinand  was  a  wonderfully  active  man 
who  took  an  almost  boyish  pride  in  his  bodily  condition, 
was  to  feel  that  the  life  of  either  was  hanging  by  a 
thread. 

However,  as  I  have  said,  all  this  was  the  unworthy 
fruit  of  an  overwrought  imagination.  The  sportsmen 
returned  to  luncheon  safe  and  sound,  with  a  modest  bag 
of  the  fowls  of  the  air  and  the  beasts  of  the  field. 

In  the  afternoon  at  the  instance  of  Mrs.  Arbuthnot, 
whose  happy  thought  it  was,  we  all  motored  over  to 
inspect  the  Castle.  The  Family  was  understood  to  be 
in  Egypt  and  the  ducal  stronghold  is  the  show  place  of 
the  district. 

The  rumour  as  to  the  Family's  whereabouts  proved 
to  be  correct,  and  a  profitable  hour  was  spent  in  the 
casual  study  of  magnificence.  The  King  took  a  gen- 
uine interest  in  all  that  he  saw.  In  particular  he  was 
charmed  with  the  view  from  the  terrace,  which  is  mod- 
elled upon  Versailles,  with  a  long  and  far-spreading 
vista  of  oaks  and  beeches  and  a  herd  of  deer  in  the 
foreground. 

He  expressed  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  Duke's  col- 
lection of  works  of  art;  yet  he  permitted  himself  to 
wonder  that  a  private  individual  should  have  such  pic- 
tures, such  tapestries,  such  furniture,  such  porcelain, 


308  MRS.    FITZ 

such  armour,  such  metal  work,  such  carpets,  such 
painted  ceilings  and  heaven  knows  what  besides. 

"It  is  pretty  well  for  a  subject,"  said  Ferdinand  the 
Twelfth. 

"His  Grace  of  Dumbarton,  sir,"  said  I,  "owns  four 
other  places  in  these  islands  on  a  similar  scale  of  mag- 
nificence ;  he  owns  a  million  and  a  quarter  acres,  of 
which  a  portion  is  in  great  centres  of  industry,  his 
income  is  rather  more  than  £500,000  a  year,  and  he  is 
accustomed  in  his  public  utterances  to  describe  himself 
as  a  member  of  a  poor  but  deserving  class." 

Ferdinand  the  Twelfth  pondered  a  moment  with  an 
amused  yet  wary  smile. 

"If  he  lived  in  Illyria,"  he  said,  "I  think  his  grace 
would  have  to  be  content  with  less,  eh,  Schalk  ?" 

"It  would  not  surprise  me,  sir,"  said  the  Chancellor, 
with  an  expressive  shrug.  "I  confess  it  does  not  appear 
economically  sound  for  a  state  to  allow  its  private  citi- 
zens to  accumulate  such  quantities  of  treasure.  What- 
ever the  measure  of  their  public  capacity  I  fail  to  see 
how  they  can  rise  to  their  responsibilities." 

"But  if,"  said  I,  "the  State  mulcts  his  grace  of  a 
f  arthingsworth,  it  is  immediately  denounced  as  a  robber. 
Property  is  the  most  sacred  thing  we  know  in  this 
country." 

"His  grace  came  by  all  this  honestly,  I  hope?"  said 
the  King  with  an  amused  air. 

"He  came  by  it  under  forms  of  law,  certainly." 

"Which  he  himself  did  not  make,  I  hope!"  said  the 
King,  laughing. 

"No,  sir;  his  grandfather  and  the  nominees  of  his 


THE  WRITING  ON  THE  WALL         309 

grandfather  and  so  on  managed  that  little  business. 
Quite  a  constitutional  proceeding,  of  course." 

"I  appreciate  that,"  said  Ferdinand  the  Twelfth  with 
his  subtle  smile.  "The  British  Constitution  has  long 
been  the  envy  of  nations.  I  suppose  our  friend  is  a  man 
of  great  public  spirit  who  has  rendered  signal  service  to 
the  British  Empire." 

"On  the  contrary,  he  prefers  the  pleasant  obscurity 
of  the  English  gentleman." 

"His  forbears,  then?" 

"The  late  Duke  was  an  imbecile ;  and  I  am  afraid  if 
any  one  took  the  trouble  to  search  the  records  of  the 
family  since  it  came  to  this  country  from  Germany 
about  the  year  1700,  there  is  only  one  episode  involving 
signal  public  spirit  recorded  in  its  archives." 

"A  glorious  victory,  a  Blenheim,  a  Waterloo,  I  pre- 
sume ?"  said  Ferdinand  the  Twelfth. 

"No,  sir;  peace  has  her  victories  also.  This  distin- 
guished family  has  won  the  Derby  Horse  Race  on  two 
occasions." 

"A  wonderful  people,  Schalk?"  said  the  King,  laugh- 
ing. 

Her  Royal  Highness  clapped  her  hands  impulsively 
in  the  face  of  Mrs.  Arbuthnot. 

"There,  Irene,  what  did  I  say !"  she  exclaimed. 
"Perrault! — wherever  you  go  in  this  little  island  you 
find  Perrault.  My  father  has  now  found  Perrault. 
Even  Schalk  has  found  him." 

"Sonia,  dear,  you  are  too  funny !"  said  Mrs.  Arbuth- 
not with  a  plaintively  childlike  air  of  tacit  condescen- 
sion. 


310  MRS.    FITZ 

The  King  informed  his  grace's  steward,  a  gentleman 
with  a  bald  head  and  a  very  conventional  aspect,  who 
awaited  us  in  the  entrance  hall  to  see  us  safely  off  the 
premises,  that  he  would  like  to  write  his  name  in  the 
visitors'  book.  Unaware  of  the  identity  of  Ferdinand 
the  Twelfth  and  by  no  means  approving  of  the  general 
trend  of  our  conversation,  the  steward  said  with  cold 
politeness  that  he  feared  the  visitors'  book  was  only 
used  by  .his  grace's  guests. 

The  King  took  up  a  piece  of  red  pencil  that  lay  on 
a  writing-table. 

"We  will  write  on  the  wall,"  he  said  blandly. 

The  steward  was  shocked  and  scandalised,  but  no  heed 
was  paid  to  his  protests.  The  King  wrote  his  name 
on  the  wall  in  bold  and  firm  English  characters,  imme- 
diately beneath  Lely's  portrait  of  the  founder  of  the 
family. 

This  accomplished,  the  King  gave  the  pencil  to  his 
daughter,  who  inscribed  her  name  also.  She  in  turn 
gave  it  to  the  Chancellor,  who  followed  her  example. 
He  then  gave  the  pencil  to  Mrs.  Arbuthnot. 

That  lady  coloured  with  embarrassment,  but  at  the 
King's  express  desire  she  wrote  her  name  too ;  and  when 
it  came  to  the  turn  of  the  Conservative  member  for  that 
part  of  the  county  he  had  no  alternative  but  to  obey 
the  royal  command. 

Our  names  duly  appeared  on  the  wall  in  the  follow- 
ing order : 

Ferdinand  Rex  Irene  Arbuthnot 

Sonia  Nevil  Fitzwaren 

Von  Schalk  Odo  Arbuthnot,  M.P. 


THE  WRITING  ON  THE  WALL         311 

Upon  the  completion  of  this  act  of  vandalism,  the 
victor  of  Rodova  turned  to  the  steward. 

"Haf  the  goodness  to  inform  his  grace,"  he  said, 
"that  the  King  of  Illyria  accepts  entire  responsibility 
for  the  writing  on  the  wall.  It  is  the  writing  on  the 
wall  for  him  and  for  his  country." 

As  we  went  towards  the  motor  cars  which  awaited  us 
at  a  side  entrance,  we  had  to  pass  down  a  flight  of  stone 
steps.  In  the  descent  the  King  was  seized  with  a  sudden 
and  momentary  faintness.  He  reeled,  and  had  it  not 
been  for  the  promptitude  of  the  ever-watchful  Chancel- 
lor he  must  have  fallen. 

"Dat  is  the  writing  on  the  wall  for  the  people  of 
Illyria,"  said  the  Victor  of  Rodova  with  humorous 
stoicism  as  he  recovered  himself. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  CAST  OF  THE  DIE 

UPON  the  return  to  Dympsfield  House,  three  tele- 
grams in  cypher  were  waiting  for  the  King.  Two 
secretaries,  who  with  divers  other  unofficial  members  of 
his  suite  were  staying  at  the  Coach  and  Horses,  were 
in  possession  of  the  library,  which  had  been  placed  at 
the  royal  disposal.  At  dinner  that  evening  we  were 
informed  that  the  Teutonic  display  of  red  fire  had  pro- 
voked a  grave  internal  crisis  in  Illyria.  The  National 
Bank  was  about  to  suspend  payment;  Consolidated 
stock  was  at  fifty-nine ;  and  his  Majesty  must  leave  these 
shores  in  the  course  of  Saturday. 

I  could  not  repress  a  sigh  of  relief,  although,  to  be 
sure,  this  was  no  more  than  the  evening  of  Wednesday. 

"Old  Vesuvius  is  beginning  to  rumble  again,"  said 
the  King  with  a  laugh  that  sounded  rather  sinister, 
"but  he  cannot  make  us  believe  in  him.  How  say  you, 
my  child?" 

He  looked  across  the  table  at  the  Princess,  who  was 
as  pale  as  death. 

Here  was  the  indication  of  the  final  and  supreme 
crisis  for  her  and  for  her  husband,  and  the  hearts  of 
those  to  whom  she  had  come  to  mean  much  were  torn 

312 


THE  CAST  OF  THE  DIE  313 

with  pity.  Elemental,  uncontrollable  forces  had  her  in 
their  toils. 

Fitz,  too,  had  all  our  pity.  The  strain  of  true 
grandeur  at  the  heart  of  the  man,  which  all  that  was 
superficial  could  not  efface,  had  asserted  itself  in  this 
season  of  anguish.  A  lesser  nature  might  have  taken 
steps  to  relieve  his  wife  of  the  torment  of  his  presence. 
But  in  the  watches  of  the  night  he  had  referred  the 
question,  and  now,  come  what  must,  he  would  meet 
his  fate. 

There  was  reason  to  believe  that  he  had  already 
thrown  his  weight  in  the  scale  on  the  side  of  Ferdinand. 
He  had  stopped  short  of  self-immolation,  it  was  true; 
he  had  placed  another  interpretation  on  the  Voice ;  but 
it  seemed  to  me,  his  friend,  that  his  whole  bearing  was 
a  piece  of  altruistic  heroism  which  could  have  had  few 
parallels. 

"Ferdinand  is  right,"  he  said  as  we  kept  vigil  in  my 
quarters.  "The  interests  of  a  great  people  are  of  more 
account  than  a  chap  like  me.  I  know  it,  and  Sonia 
knows  it  too." 

The  words  were  torn  from  him.  It  was  curious  how 
this  contained  and  self-reliant  spirit  yearned  for  the 
sanction  that  it  was  in  the  power  of  a  sympathetic 
understanding  to  bestow.  If  he  dealt  himself  a  mortal 
wound  he  must  have  a  friend  at  his  side.  If  he  had 
superhuman  strength,  at  least  he  had  human  weakness. 
Men  of  valour  are  proud  as  a  rule.  Fitz  in  the  hour  of 
his  passion  had  a  humility,  a  craving  for  the  counten- 
ance of  his  fellows  that  I  could  only  do  my  best  to 
render  in  a  humble  way.  The  walk  of  mediocrity  saves 


314  MRS.    FITZ 

us  from  many  things,  but  I  suppose  there  are  seasons 
in  the  lives  of  some  who  wear  its  badge  when  we  would 
willingly  forego  its  comfortable  consciousness  of  im- 
munity for  some  diviner  gift. 

It  was  as  though  my  unhappy  friend  was  bleeding, 
perhaps  to  death,  and  I  knew  not  how  to  stanch  his 
wound. 

Neither  of  us  sought  our  beds  that  night,  but  sat  and 
smoked  hour  after  hour,  in  silence  for  the  most  part, 
beside  a  dead  fire.  He  wished  me  to  be  near  him,  almost 
as  a  dumb  animal  yearns  for  those  who  shew  a  sym- 
pathetic understanding  of  its  pain,  even  if  they  are 
powerless  to  make  it  less. 

As  thus  we  sat  together  my  mind  envisaged  the 
chequered  career  of  my  companion  in  all  its  phases.  I 
recalled  him  in  his  first  pair  of  trousers  at  his  private 
school;  I  recalled  him  as  my  fag  in  that  larger  cos- 
mogony in  which  afterwards  we  dwelt  together.  As  his 
senior,  in  those  days  I  had  unconsciously  regarded  him 
as  less  than  myself.  But  this  night,  as  I  sat  with  him, 
consumed  with  pity  for  the  tragic  wreck  of  his  fortunes, 
I  realised  that  he  was  one  whose  life  was  passed  on  a 
higher,  more  significant  plane  than  mine  could  ever 
occupy. 

It  was  good  to  feel  that  I  had  nothing  with  which  to 
reproach  myself  in  regard  to  my  attitude  towards  him 
in  those  distant  days.  His  fits  of  depression,  his  out- 
bursts of  deviltry,  his  dislike  of  games,  the  streak  of 
fatalism  that  was  in  him,  his  impatience  of  all  authority 
had  exposed  him  to  many  hardships.  But  I  was  glad 
to  think  that  I  need  not  accuse  myself  of  imperfect 


THE  CAST  OF  THE  DIE  315 

sympathy  towards  this  fantastically  odd,  yet  high  and 
enduring  spirit. 

Thursday  came  and  passed  in  gloom.  Even  Fer- 
dinand, that  heart  of  steel,  was  feeling  the  poignancy 
of  the  crisis.  Throughout  the  day  Sonia  did  not  ap- 
pear. But  in  the  evening  Irene  sat  with  her  in  her  room. 

"If  I  were  she,"  she  declared  to  me  later,  with  tearful 
defiance,  "I  would  not  go  back — that  is,  unless  they 
accepted  my  husband  as  their  future  king." 

"They  cannot  do  that." 

"I  think  the  King  himself  is  so  wrong.  He  hates 
Nevil,  and  he  has  not  the  least  affection  for  poor  little 
Marie,  his  granddaughter.  It  is  a  dreadful  state  of 
things." 

I  concurred  dismally.  Yet  it  was  a  state  of  things 
arising  so  naturally,  so  inevitably  out  of  the  special 
circumstances  of  the  case  that  it  seemed  almost  to  for- 
feit a  little  of  its  tragic  significance. 

"If  only  she  is  strong  enough  to  hold  out  until  Satur- 
day," said  my  feminine  counsellor.  "But  I  am  rather 
afraid.  She  is  quite  weak  in  some  ways." 

"There  is  a  weakness,  isn't  there,  which  is  a  higher 
form  of  strength?" 

"Can  you  mean  that  she  will  not  be  weak  if  she  con- 
sents to  return  to  Illyria  to  marry  the  Archduke 
Joseph?" 

"She  owes  a  duty  to  her  people." 

"She  owes  a  duty  to  her  husband  and  child." 

Thursday  ended  as  it  began  and  Friday  brought  no 
solace.  The  Princess  reappeared  among  us  in  the  after- 
noon. She  was  pale  and  composed,  and  as  the  twilight 


316  MRS.    FITZ 

of  the  January  afternoon  was  gathering,  she  and  Fitz 
rode  out  together.  The  King,  at  the  same  hour,  walked 
in  the  muddy  lanes  with  von  Schalk. 

"They  leave  us  to-morrow  morning  at  eleven,"  Mrs. 
Arbuthnot  informed  me,  "and  Sonia  has  not  had  her 
things  packed.  I  believe  the  worst  is  over.  She  would 
have  told  me  had  she  decided  to  go." 

I  was  unable  to  share  her  optimism.  From  the  first 
I  had  felt  that  the  stars  in  their  courses  would  prove 
too  much  for  the  unhappy  lady.  And  nothing  had 
occurred  to  remove  that  fear. 

The  King  returned  from  his  walk,  and  suave  and 
subtle  of  countenance,  it  pleased  him  to  toy  with  a  cup 
of  Mrs.  Arbuthnot's  tea,  while  he  toasted  his  muddy 
gaiters  at  the  fire. 

"My  daughter  has  not  returned  from  her  ride?" 

"No,  sir,"  I  informed  him. 

"The  last  ride  together,"  said  the  King  gently.  "One 
of  your  excellent  English  poets  has  a  poem  about  it, 
has  he  not?" 

A  thrill  passed  through  my  nerves  at  the  almost  cruel 
directness  of  the  King's  speech.  I  saw  that  in  the  same 
moment  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  had  filled  with  tears. 

"You  have  great  poets  in  England,"  said  the  King 
softly.  "They  are  the  chief  glories  of  a  nation,  and 
your  country  is  rich  in  them.  We  have  great  poets  in 
Illyria  also.  There  is  Bolder.  We  are  all  proud  to  be 
the  countrymen  of  Bolder.  When  you  come  to  see  us 
at  Blaenau  I  think  you  will  like  to  meet  him." 

As  the  King  spoke  in  his  paternal  voice,  I  was  con- 
scious of  his  hand  upon  the  breast  of  my  coat.  He  had 


THE  CAST  OF  THE  DIE  317 

pinned  a  piece  of  black  ribbon  upon  it,  to  which  was 
attached  a  silver  star. 

"I  am  afraid,  sir,"  I  said,  suffering  some  embarrass- 
ment, "no  man  ever  did  less  to  deserve  the  Order  of 
the  Silver  Star  of  Illyria." 

The  King  took  my  hand  in  his  with  that  wonderful 
cordial  sympathy  that  was  so  hard  to  resist. 

"A  friend  in  need  is  a  friend  indeed,  Mr.  Arbuthnot, 
as  your  English  saying  has  it.  And,  madame,  when 
together  we  lead  the  cotillon  at  Blaenau,  I  hope  you 
will  honour  us  by  wearing  this." 

The  King  laid  a  jewel  of  much  beauty  upon  the  tea- 
table. 

"Oh,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot,  smiling  faintly 
through  wet  eyelashes. 

Standing  before  the  fire,  tea-cup  in  hand,  the  King 
talked  to  us  quite  simply  and  pleasantly  and  sincerely. 
He  was  a  man  of  great  power  of  mind  and  his  outlook 
upon  life  was  large  and  direct. 

"You  have  many  ways  in  this  country  that  I  should 
like  to  see  in  ours,"  he  said.  "But  we  in  Illyria  make 
haste  slowly.  The  climate  is  not  so  bracing.  I  am 
afraid  we  do  not  think  so  forcibly.  And  there  is  a  wider 
gulf  between  the  rich  and  the  poor." 

There  was  a  note  of  regret  in  the  King's  tone.  He 
seemed  to  be  turning  his  eyes  to  the  future,  and  in  the 
process  his  face  grew  tired  and  melancholy.  It  was  then 
that  I  realised  that  this  man  of  infinite  vigour  and 
power  was  said  to  be  near  the  end  of  his  course. 

At  dinner  we  were  enlivened  by  his  gaiety.  His 
charm  was  hard  to  resist,  so  rich  and  full  it  was  and  so 


318  MRS.    FITZ 

spontaneous.  But  my  thoughts  strayed  ever  away  from 
the  King,  his  wisdom  and  his  persiflage,  to  those  who 
were  one  flesh  in  the  sight  of  God,  who  were  dining 
together  for  the  last  time. 

Their  courage  was  a  noble,  even  an  amazing  thing. 
The  stoicism  with  which  they  ate  and  drank  and  bore  a 
part  in  the  conversation  while  a  chasm  had  opened  be- 
neath their  feet  was  almost  incredible.  Throughout  the 
perpetual  oscillation  from  comedy  to  tragedy,  from 
tragedy  to  comedy,  from  comedy  to  tragedy  again  of 
their  life  together,  they  had  borne  their  parts  with  a 
heroic  constancy,  and  even  in  this  dark  phase  they  were 
equal  to  their  task. 

The  die  was  cast.  On  the  morrow  the  Princess  would 
return  to  her  people,  marry  the  Archduke,  and  when 
the  time  came  accept  the  throne.  It  was  part  of  the 
dreadful  covenant  the  King  had  exacted  that  she  would 
never  see  Fitz  and  their  child  again. 

I  passed  a  night  of  weary  wretchedness.  Do  what  I 
would,  I  could  not  keep  Fitz  out  of  my  thoughts.  About 
three  o'clock  I  rose  and  dressed  and  put  on  my  over- 
coat and  walked  out  into  the  garden.  Somehow  I  ex- 
pected to  find  him  there.  But  there  was  not  a  trace  of 
him,  and  every  window  in  the  house  was  dark.  A  spirit 
of  desolation  seemed  to  pervade  everything — so  dark 
and  chill  was  the  night.  There  was  not  a  star  to  be 
seen. 

I  went  back  to  my  room,  coaxed  up  the  fire,  seated 
myself  beside  it  and  lit  a  pipe.  Presently  I  heard  a 
footfall  on  the  stairs.  It  was  Irene,  pale  and  weary 


THE  CAST  OF  THE  DIE  319 

with  much  weeping.  Daylight  found  her  asleep  in  my 
arms  with  her  head  on  my  shoulder. 

The  day  of  the  King's  departure  had  come  at  last. 
There  was  a  general  scurry  of  preparation,  but  pre- 
cisely at  eleven  o'clock  a  procession  of  six  motor  cars 
started  from  our  door  for  Middleham  railway  station, 
whence  a  special  train  would  proceed  to  Southampton. 
It  was  Sonia's  wish  that  Irene  and  I  should  accompany 
her  to  the  train ;  and  poor  Fitz,  half  stunned  as  he  was, 
determined  to  play  out  the  game  to  the  end,  and  with 
one  of  his  odd  outbursts  of  cynicism  affirmed  his  sports- 
manlike intention  of  "being  in  at  the  death." 

The  King,  his  daughter,  the  Chancellor,  and  Mrs. 
Arbuthnot  were  in  the  second  car,  preceded  by  a  special 
escort  from  Scotland  Yard.  Fitz  and  I  had  the  third 
to  ourselves ;  the  Secretaries  were  in  the  fourth ;  the 
fifth  and  six  conveyed  the  valets,  her  Royal  Highness's 
maid  and  a  considerable  quantity  of  luggage. 

As  the  procession,  at  the  modest  rate  of  twelve  miles 
an  hour,  came  into  the  pleasant  village  of  Lymeswold, 
where  our  revered  Vicar  has  his  cure  of  souls,  there 
was  a  considerable  amount  of  bunting  displayed  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  Coach  and  Horses.  And  from  the  win- 
dows of  the  Rectory  itself  depended  the  Union  Jack 
side  by  side  with  the  silver  Star  of  Illyria  on  a  green 
ground.  Mrs.  Vicar  waved  a  white  pocket  handkerchief 
from  the  gate  of  the  manse,  but  the  Vicar  was  bearing 
a  chief  part  in  a  more  dramatic  tableau  that  had  been 
arranged  on  the  village  green.  Here  the  village  school 
was  drawn  up,  the  girls  in  nice  white  pinafores  and  the 
boys  looking  almost  painfully  well  washed.  Each  had 


320  MRS.    FITZ 

a  small  flag  that  was  waved  frantically,  and  the  Vicar 
standing  at  their  head  led  a  prodigious  quantity  of 
cheering,  while  Ferdinand  the  Twelfth  took  off  his  hat 
and  bowed. 

But  all  this  was  merely  a  prelude  to  the  historic  spec- 
tacle that  we  came  upon  presently.  At  the  top  of  the 
steep  hill  leading  to  the  Marl  Pits,  that  favourite  haunt 
of  "the  stinkin'  Middleshire  phocks,"  lo  and  behold !  all 
the  Crackanthorpe  horses,  all  the  Crackanthorpe  men, 
not  to  mention  their  ladies,  their  hounds  and  the  entire 
hunt  establishment,  even  unto  Peter  the  terrier,  were 
assembled  in  full  array  of  battle,  as  became  the  hour 
of  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  a  rare  scenting  day 
in  the  middle  of  January.  The  cavalcade  lined  each 
side  of  the  road,  and  our  motor  cars  passed  through  it 
on  their  lowest  speed,  to  a  running  accompaniment  of 
cheers  and  hunting  noises  and  a  waving  of  hats  and 
handkerchiefs. 

Evidently  the  scene  had  been  carefully  stage-managed 
and  formed  a  handsome  and  appropriate  amende.  It 
did  not  fail  of  its  appeal  to  the  broken-hearted  circus 
rider  from  Vienna.  She  responded  by  kissing  her  hand 
repeatedly,  and  her  father  lifted  his  hat  and  bowed 
continually  as  though  it  were  a  state  procession. 

The  heart  of  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  was  in  pieces,  but  it 
was  a  great  moment  in  the  history  of  the  clan.  The 
china  blue  eyes  were  brimming  over  with  their  tears,  but 
they  were  still  capable  of  radiating  a  subtle  feminine 
light  of  triumph. 

The  noble  Master  blew  a  blast  on  his  horn  and  his 
aide-de-camp,  Joseph  Jocelyn  De  Vere  Vane-Anstruther, 


THE  CAST  OF  THE  DIE  321 

marked  the  royal  progress  by  hoisting  his  hat  on  his 
whip.  As  we  passed  Mrs.  Catesby,  who  looked  very 
red,  the  brims  of  whose  hat  looked  wider  and  whose 
whole  appearance  approximated  more  nearly  than  ever 
to  that  of  Mr.  Weller  the  Elder,  I  bestowed  a  special 
salutation  upon  her,  of,  I  fear,  somewhat  ironical  di- 
mensions. The  Great  Lady  responded  by  shaking  her 
whip  at  me  in  a  decidedly  truculent  manner. 

Our  procession  passed  on  to  Middleham  railway  sta- 
tion, which  we  reached  about  a  quarter  to  twelve.  A 
considerable  crowd  had  assembled  about  its  precincts. 
The  roadway  and  the  entrance  to  the  station  were 
guarded  by  a  body  of  mounted  police,  and  a  small  de- 
tachment of  the  Middleshire  Yeomanry  in  the  charge 
of  no  less  a  person  than  Major  George  Catesby  who 
saluted  us  with  his  sword. 

On  the  platform  we  were  received  by  a  number  of 
local  dignitaries,  and  foremost  among  these,  tall  and 
austere,  but  with  the  faint  light  of  humour  in  his  coun- 
tenance, was  Lieutenant-Colonel  John  Chalmers  Cover- 
dale,  C.M.G.,  late  of  his  Majesty's  Carabineers. 

The  King  and  his  Chancellor  took  a  brief  but  cordial 
leave  of  us  and  stepped  briskly  into  the  royal  saloon; 
and  then  I  felt  the  pressure  of  a  woman's  hand,  and  I 
heard  a  low  broken  whisper,  "Be  good  for  my  sake  to 
Nevil  and  little  Marie."  The  Princess  then  took  the 
hands  of  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  in  each  of  her  own,  kissed  her 
wet  cheeks,  and  was  handed  into  the  train  by  her  hus- 
band she  had  promised  never  to  see  in  this  life  again. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

REACTION 

THE  week  that  followed  the  royal  departure  was  a 
season  of  reaction  at  Dympsfield  House.  The  tension 
of  our  recent  life  had  been  well  nigh  unendurable.  But 
now  the  die  was  cast,  the  problem  solved ;  we  could  live 
and  move  and  enjoy  our  being  according  to  our  wont. 

To  be  sure  the  unhappy  Fitz  was  still  our  anxiety. 
He  and  his  small  daughter  were  still  under  our  roof, 
and  would  so  remain  until  the  house  of  his  fathers  had 
been  rebuilt  or  until  such  time  as  he  should  choose  some 
other  asylum  for  his  shattered  life. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  Fitz,  with  all  his  quid- 
dity, had  become  dear  to  us.  The  tragic  wreck  of  his 
life  had  called  forth  all  that  latent  nobility  which  I  at 
any  rate,  as  his  oldest  friend,  had  always  known  to  be 
there.  His  submission  to  the  fate  which  he  had  himself 
invoked  had  seemed  to  soften  the  grosser  elements  that 
were  in  his  clay.  He  had  now  only  his  small  elf  of  four 
to  live  for.  In  that  vivid  atom  of  mortality  were  re- 
produced many  of  the  characteristics  of  the  ill-starred 
"circus  rider  from  Vienna." 

During  the  first  few  days  a  kind  of  stupor  lay  upon 
Fitz.  He  hardly  seemed  able  to  realise  what  had  hap- 
pened. He  went  out  hunting  and  actively  superintended 

322 


REACTION  323 

the  rebuilding  of  the  Grange,  almost  as  if  nothing  had 
occurred  to  him.  But  all  too  soon,  this  merciful  veil 
was  withdrawn  from  his  mind.  He  became  consumed  by 
restlessness.  He  could  not  sleep  nor  eat  his  food;  he 
could  not  settle  to  any  sort  of  occupation ;  nothing 
seemed  able  to  engage  his  interest;  his  mind  lost  its 
stability,  and  slowly  but  surely  his  will  began  to  lose 
that  reawakened  power  that  it  had  seemed  to  be  the 
special  function  of  his  marriage  to  sustain  and  promote. 

By  the  time  the  first  week  had  passed  we  began  to 
have  forebodings.  Already  signs  were  not  wanting  that 
the  demons  of  a  sinister  inheritance  were  silently  mar- 
shalling themselves  in  order  that  they  might  swoop  down 
upon  him.  One  afternoon  I  found  him  asleep  on  a  sofa 
drunk. 

As  Coverdale  was  well  acquainted  with  his  tempera- 
ment and  all  the  most  salient  facts  in  its  history,  and 
as,  moreover,  he  was  a  man  for  whose  natural  soundness 
of  judgment  I  had  the  greatest  respect,  I  was  moved 
to  take  him  into  my  confidence. 

"He  must  get  away  from  England,"  said  Coverdale, 
"for  a  time  at  any  rate.  And  he  must  go  soon." 

This  was  an  opinion  with  which  I  agreed.  It  hap- 
pened that  Coverdale  knew  a  man  who  was  about  to 
start  on  a  journey  across  Equatorial  Africa  and  who 
proposed  to  form  a  hunting  camp  and  indulge  in  some 
big  game  shooting  by  the  way.  Such  a  scheme  appeared 
so  eminently  suited  to  Fitz's  immediate  needs  that  I 
hailed  it  gladly. 

Alas!  when  I  discussed  this  project  with  him  he  de- 
clined wholly  to  entertain  it ;  moreover  he  declined  with 


324  MRS.    FITZ 

all  that  odd  decision  which  was  one  of  his  chief  char- 
acteristics. 

"No,"  he  said.  "I  must  stay  here  and  see  to  the 
building  of  the  house  and  I  must  look  after  Marie." 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  launched  my  arguments.  The 
scheme  did  not  appeal  to  him  and  there,  as  far  as  he 
was  concerned,  was  the  end  to  the  matter. 

"I  must  look  after  Marie,"  he  said.  "We  are  getting 
her  to  do  sums.  Her  mother  could  never  do  a  sum  to 
save  her  life." 

Argument  was  vain.  Such  a  nature  was  incapable 
of  accepting  a  suggestion  from  an  outside  source;  the 
mainspring  of  all  its  actions  lay  within. 

The  total  failure  of  the  attempt  to  get  him  to  respond 
to  so  hopeful  an  alternative  vexed  me  sorely.  At  the 
time  it  seemed  to  promise  the  only  means  of  saving  him 
from  the  danger  which  already  had  him  in  its  toils.  He 
grew  more  and  more  restless ;  his  distaste  for  food  grew 
more  pronounced,  and  in  an  appallingly  short  time  it 
became  clear  to  us  that  whatever  there  remained  to  be 
done  for  him  must  be  done  at  once. 

We  were  helpless  nevertheless.  To  anything  in  the 
nature  of  persuasion  he  remained  impervious.  He  could 
not  be  brought  to  see  the  nearness  of  the  danger.  It  was 
like  him  never  to  heed  the  question  of  cost.  He  could 
never  have  ordered  his  life  as  he  had  done,  had  he  not 
had  the  quality  of  projecting  the  whole  of  himself  into 
the  actual  hour. 

Those  who  had  his  welfare  at  heart  were  still  taking 
counsel  one  of  another  in  respect  of  what  could  be  done 
to  help  him  through  this  new  crisis,  when  a  mandate  was 


REACTION  325 

received  from  Mrs.  Catesby  to  dine  at  the  Hermitage. 
Fitz  was  included  in  it,  but  it  did  not  surprise  us  that 
he  declined  an  invitation  which  less  uncompromising 
persons  were  inclined  to  regard  in  the  light  of  a  com- 
mand. 

It  was  not  that  he  bore  malice.  He  was  altogether 
beyond  the  pettiness  of  the  minor  emotions ;  it  was 
as  though  his  entire  being,  for  good  or  for  evil,  had 
been  raised  to  another  dimension  or  higher  power.  But 
as  he  said  with  his  haggard  face,  "I  don't  feel  up  to  it." 

Lowlier  mortals,  more  specifically  Mrs.  Arbuthnot 
and  myself,  accepted  humbly  and  contritely.  We  felt 
that  a  certain  piquancy  would  invest  the  gathering. 
Not  that  we  knew  exactly  who  had  been  bidden  to  attend 
it,  but  Mrs.  Arbuthnot's  feminine  instinct — and  what  is 
so  impeccable  in  such  matters  as  these? — proclaimed 
this  dinner  party  to  be  neither  more  nor  less  than  the 
public  signature  of  the  articles  of  peace. 

Accordingly  we  set  out  for  the  Hermitage,  not  how- 
ever without  a  certain  travail  of  the  spirit,  for  poor 
Fitz  would  be  left  to  a  lonely  cutlet  which  he  would  not 
eat.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  when  we  went  forth  he  had 
not  returned  from  London  where  he  had  spent  most  of 
the  day  in  consultation  with  his  solicitors. 

There  assembled  at  the  Hermitage,  at  which  we  ar- 
rived in  very  good  time,  nearly  every  identical  member 
of  the  company  we  expected  to  meet.  Coverdale,  Bras- 
set,  Jodey,  who  still  enjoyed  the  hospitality  of  our 
neighbour,  the  Vicar  and  his  Lavinia,  Laura  Glendin- 
ning,  Mrs.  Josiah  P.  Perkins.  Also  as  became  one  whose 
house  provided  a  kind  of  via  media  to  that  greater  world 


326  MRS.    FITZ 

of  which  the  Castle  was  the  embodiment,  Mrs.  Catesby's 
dinner  table  was  graced  by  a  younger  son  and  a  daugh- 
ter-in-law of  the  ducal  house. 

Good  humour  reigned.  It  might  even  be  said  to 
amount  in  the  course  of  the  pleasant  process  of  degluti- 
tion to  a  sort  of  friendly  badinage.  An  atmosphere 
of  tolerance  pervaded  all  things.  If  bygones  were  not 
actually  bygones,  they  were  in  a  fair  way  of  so  becom- 
ing. At  least  this  particular  section  of  the  Crackan- 
thorpe  Hunt  was  on  the  high  road  to  being  once  again  a 
happy  and  united  family. 

The  revelation  of  the  "Stormy  Petrel's"  identity  had 
had  a  magic  influence  upon  an  immense  aggregation  of 
wounded  feelings.  It  was  now  felt  pretty  generally 
that  all  might  be  forgiven  without  any  grave  sacrifice 
of  personal  dignity.  It  was  conceded  that  great  spirit 
had  been  shown  on  both  sides,  but  in  the  special  and 
peculiar  circumstances  a  display  of  Christian  mag- 
nanimity was  called  for. 

Irene  was  morally  and  wickedly  wrong — the  phrase  is 
Mrs.  Catesby's  own — in  keeping  the  secret  so  well.  Of 
course  "the  circus  proprietor"  had  deceived  nobody:  it 
was  merely  childish  for  Irene  to  suppose  for  one  single 
moment  that  he  would ;  and  for  her  to  attempt  "a  score" 
of  that  puerile  character  was  positively  infantile.  But 
in  the  opinion  of  the  assembled  jury  of  matrons,  plus 
Miss  Laura  Glendinning  specially  co-opted,  it  was  felt 
very  strongly  that  Irene  had  not  quite  played  the  game. 

"Child,"  said  the  Great  Lady  speaking  ex  cathedra, 
with  a  piece  of  bread  in  one  hand  and  a  piece  of  turbot 
on  a  fork  in  the  other,  "when  I  consider  that  I  chose 


REACTION  327 

your  husband's  first  governess,  quite  a  refined  person, 
of  the  sound,  rather  old-fashioned  evangelical  school, 
I  feel  that  it  was  morally  and  wickedly  wrong  of  you  to 
withhold  from  me  of  all  people  the  identity  of  the  dear 
Princess." 

"But,  Mary,"  said  the  light  of  my  existence,  toying 
demurely  with  her  sherry,  "I  didn't  know  who  she  was 
myself  until  nearly  a  week  after  the  fire." 

The  Great  Lady  bolted  her  bread  and  laid  down  her 
fork  with  an  approximation  to  that  which  can  only  be 
described  as  majesty. 

"Would  you  have  me  believe,"  she  demanded,  "that 
when  you  took  her  to  your  house  on  the  night  of  the 
fire  you  really  and  sincerely  believed  that  she  was  merely 
the  wife  of  Nevil?" 

"Yes,  Mary,"  said  the  joy  of  my  days,  "I  really  and 
sincerely  believed  that  she  was  the  circus — I  mean,  that 
is,  that  she  was  just  Mrs.  Fitz." 

General  incredulity,  in  the  course  of  which  George 
Catesby  inquired  very  politely  of  the  Younger  Son  if  he 
had  enjoyed  his  day. 

"Never  enjoyed  a  day  so  much,"  said  the  Younger 
Son,  with  immense  conviction,  "since  we  turned  up  that 
old  customer  without  a  brush  in  Dipwell  Gorse  five  years 
ago  to-morrow  come  11.15  g.m." 

"11.20,  my  lad,"  chirruped  the  noble  Master.  "Your 
memory  is  failin'." 

"Irene,"  said  the  uncompromising  voice  from  the  end 
of  the  table,  "I  cannot  and  will  not  allow  myself  to 
believe  that  you  were  not  in  the  secret  before  the  fire." 


328  MRS.    FITZ 

"Tell  it  to  the  marines,  Irene,"  said  Mrs.  Josiah  P. 
Perkins. 

"Wonder  what  she  will  ask  us  to  believe  next,"  said 
Miss  Laura  Glendinning. 

"What  indeed !"  said  the  Vicar's  wife. 

"It  isn't  human  nature,"  affirmed  Lady  Frederick. 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  the  star  of  my  destiny,  with 
an  ominous  sparkle  of  a  china  blue  eye,  "you  can  ask 
Odo." 

"Odo!"  I  give  up  the  attempt  to  reproduce  the 
cataclysm  of  scorn  which  overwhelmed  the  table.  "Odo 
is  quite  as  bad  as  you  are,  if  not  worse.  He  knew  from 
the  first.  He  knew  when  the  Illyrian  Ambassador  came 
in  person  to  the  Coach  and  Horses  and  fetched  her  in 
his  car;  he  knew  when  she  chaffed  dear  Evelyn  so  de- 
lightfully that  night  at  the  Savoy." 

"What  if  he  did?"  said  the  undefeated  Mrs.  Arbuth- 
not.  "He  didn't  tell  me.  Did  you  now,  Odo?" 

With  statesmanlike  mien  I  assured  the  company  that 
Mrs.  Fitz's  identity  was  not  disclosed  to  our  household 
despot  until  some  days  after  her  arrival  at  Dympsfield 
House. 

"I  am  obliged  to  believe  you,  Odo,"  said  Mrs. 
Catesby.  "But  mind  I  only  do  so  on  principle." 

Somehow  this  cryptic  statement  seemed  to  minister 
to  the  mirth  of  the  table.  It  was  increased  when  the 
Younger  Son,  who  evidently  had  been  waiting  his  oppor- 
tunity, came  into  the  conversation. 

"Odo  Arbuthnot,  M.P.,"  said  he,  "I  expect  when  Dick 
sees  what  you  have  done  to  his  wall  he'll  sue  you.  Any- 
how I  should." 


REACTION  329 

The  approval  which  greeted  this  sally  made  it  clear 
that  the  incident  had  become  historical. 

"By  royal  command,"  said  I ;  "and  what  chance  do 
you  suppose  has  a  mere  private  member  against  the 
despotic  will  of  the  father  of  his  people?" 

"A  gross  outrage.  An  act  of  vandalism.  Postle- 
waite says — 

"Postlewaite's  an  ass." 

"Whatever  Postlewaite  is,  it  doesn't  excuse  you.  He 
says  you  were  all  talking  the  rankest  Socialism,  and  he 
was  quite  within  his  rights  not  to  give  you  the  book." 

"I  repeat,  Frederick,  that  Postlewaite  is  an  ass.  If 
the  Postlewaites  of  the  earth  think  for  one  moment 
that  the  Victors  of  Rodova  will  turn  the  other  cheek 
to  the  retort  discourteous,  the  sooner  they  learn  other- 
wise the  better  it  will  be  for  them  and  those  whom  they 
serve." 

"Hear,  hear  and  cheers,"  said  my  gallant  little 
friend,  Mrs.  Josiah  P.  Perkins,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
the  Great  Lady  had  fixed  her  with  her  invincible  north 
eye. 

"Ferdinand  Rex  one  doesn't  mind  so  much,"  pro- 
ceeded Frederick.  "And  the  Princess  is  all  right  of 
course,  and  von  Schalk  is  a  bit  of  a  Bismarck  they  say ; 
but  when  you  come  to  foot  the  bill  with  Odo  Arbuthnot, 
M.P. — well,  as  Postlewaite  says,  it  is  nothing  less  than 
an  act  of  vandalism.  The  M.P.  fairly  cooked  my 
goose,  I  must  say." 

The  M.P.  was  very  bad  form,  everybody  agreed, 
with  the  honourable  and  gallant  exception  of  la  belle 
Americaine. 


330  MRS.    FITZ 

"Might  be  a  labour  member!  I  don't  know  what 
Dick'll  say  when  he  sees  it." 

"Two  alternatives  present  themselves  to  my  mind," 
said  I,  impenitently.  "Postlewaite  can  either  clear  off 
the  whole  thing  before  he  returns,  else  append  a  magic 
'(7  in  brackets  after  the  offending  symbols." 

"You  ain't  entitled  to  a  'C'  in  brackets.  You  grow 
a  worse  Radical  every  day  of  your  life  and  everybody 
is  agreed  that  it  is  time  you  came  out  in  your  true 
colours." 

"Hear,  hear,"  from  the  table. 

"I've  half  a  mind  to  oppose  you  myself  at  the  next 
election  as  a  convinced  Tariff  Reformer,  Anti-Socialist, 
Fair  Play  for  Everybody,  and  official  representative 
of  a  poor  but  deserving  class." 

"We  shall  all  be  glad  to  sign  your  nomination 
paper,"  affirmed  George  Catesby. 

"Well,  Lord  Frederick,"  said  my  intrepid  Mrs. 
Josiah,  "I  will  just  bet  you  a  box  of  gloves  anyway 
that  you  don't  get  in." 

"And  I'll  bet  you  another,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot. 

"He's  not  such  a  fool  as  to  try,"  said  the  noble 
Master. 

"Frederick,"  said  the  Great  Lady,  "stick  to  your 
muttons.  You  have  plenty  to  do  to  raise  breed  and 
quality.  Why  not  try  a  cross  between  the  Welsh  and 
the  Southdown?  At  least  I  am  convinced  that  in  these 
days  the  House  of  Commons  offers  no  career  for  a 
gentleman." 

"I've  a  great  mind  to  cut  in  and  have  a  shot  any- 
way," said  the  scion  of  the  ducal  house,  with  a  mild 


REACTION  331 

confusion  of  metaphor.    "I  don't  see  why  these  Radical 

fellers " 

Whatever  the  speech  was  in  its  integrity,  it  was 
destined  never  to  be  completed.  For  at  this  precise 
moment  the  door  was  flung  open  in  a  dramatic  manner, 
and  a  haggard  man  wearing  an  overcoat  and  carrying 
his  hat  in  his  hand,  broke  in  upon  Mrs.  Catesby's  din- 
ner party. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

NEWS  FROM  ILLYRIA 

THE  man  was  Fitz. 

"A  thousand  apologies,"  he  said.  "So  sorry  to  dis- 
turb you  all.  But  there's  news  from  Illyria." 

Such  a  very  remarkable  obtrusion  enchained  the  at- 
tention of  us  all.  And  this  was  not  rendered  less  by 
the  self-possession  of  the  speaker's  manner. 

"Ferdinand  has  been  assassinated,"  Fitz's  tone  was 
slow  and  contained;  "the  Monarchy  has  been  over- 
thrown, Sonia  is  a  close  prisoner  in  the  castle  at  Blae- 
nau,  and  her  fate  hangs  in  the  balance." 

"What  is  your  authority?"  said  Coverdale. 

"Reuter,"  said  Fitz.  "A  telegram  is  printed  in  the 
evening  papers.  I  happened  to  buy  one  at  the  book- 
stall as  I  left  town." 

He  produced  the  Westminster  Gazette  from  the 
pocket  of  his  overcoat  and  handed  it  to  the  Chief  Con- 
stable. 

"You  don't  suppose,"  said  Coverdale,  frowning  heav- 
ily, "that  they  are  capable  of  personal  violence  towards 
the  Princess?" 

"At  bottom  they  are  only  half  civilised,"  said  Fitz, 
"and  when  their  passions  are  aroused  they  are  capable 
of  anything.  You  will  see  the  telegram  says  the  gov- 

332 


NEWS  FROM  ILLYRIA  333 

ernment  is  in  the  hands  of  a  committee  of  the  people. 
And  no  wise  man  ever  trusts  the  people  and  never  will." 

This  feudal  sentiment  was  uttered  in  a  tone  of  the 
oddest  conviction. 

"By  jove!"  said  the  scion  of  the  ducal  house,  "here 
is  the  chap  we  are  looking  for." 

But  the  intrusion  of  Fitz  was  too  deadly  serious  for 
any  side  issue  to  be  allowed  to  distract  our  attention. 

"I  apologise  to  you,  Mrs.  Catesby,  for  spoiling  your 
dinner  party  like  this,"  he  said,  "but  it  is  my  firm  con- 
viction that  if  the  Princess  is  to  be  saved  there  is  not 
a  moment  to  lose." 

"One  is  inclined  to  agree  with  you,"  said  Coverdale, 
slowly  and  thoughtfully.  "Has  it  occurred  to  you  that 
anything  can  be  done?" 

Fitz's  reply,  given  quietly  enough,  was  characteristic 
of  the  man. 

"To-day  is  Monday,"  he  said.  "By  midnight  on 
Thursday  we  shall  have  her  out  of  Blaenau." 

"Impossible,  my  dear  fellow,  impossible,"  said  the 
Chief  Constable,  "if  this  account  is  correct." 

"Nothing  is  impossible,"  said  the  Man  of  Destiny. 
"There  is  just  time  now  to  catch  the  ten  o'clock  to- 
night from  Middleham.  First  thing  to-morrow  morn- 
ing we  will  get  our  papers  if  we  can,  and  if  we  can't 
we'll  go  without  them.  We  shall  be  in  Paris  some  time 
in  the  afternoon ;  and  if  all  goes  well  by  Wednesday 
evening  we  shall  be  in  Vienna.  By  five  o'clock  on 
Thursday  we  ought  to  be  at  Orgov  on  the  Milesian 
frontier,  and  six  hours'  easy  riding  over  the  mountains 
with  a  couple  of  baits  will  land  us  at  Blaenau." 


334  MRS.    FITZ 

We  who  knew  Fitz  and  had  followed  him  in  high 
affairs  knew  better  than  to  venture  upon  criticism  of 
this  bald  and  unconvincing  scheme.  Those  who  did  not 
know  him  could  only  smile  incredulously. 

"Sounds  easy,"  said  Lord  Frederick,  "but  assuming, 
Fitzwaren,  that  you  get  to  Blaenau  like  that,  what  can 
it  profit  you  if  the  Princess  is  in  the  Castle  under  lock 
and  key?" 

"Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make  nor  iron  bars  a 
cage,"  quoted  the  Man  of  Destiny.  "Once  we  get  to 
Blaenau  we  shall  have  her  out  of  the  Castle,  never  fear 
about  that.  But  there  is  no  time  to  discuss  the  matter 
now.  If  we  go  at  once  and  collect  our  gear — so  sorry, 
Mrs.  Catesby,  but  absolutely  unavoidable — we  can  be 
in  town  by  12.15,  arrange  about  our  papers  and  keep 
well  in  front  of  the  clock." 

The  man's  calm  assumption  that  we  should  all  un- 
hesitatingly follow  his  lead  and  commit  ourselves  to 
this  rather  mad  and  certainly  most  uncomfortable 
enterprise  was  remarkable. . 

"There  is  not  a  minute  to  lose,"  he  said.  "By  the 
way,  Arbuthnot,  I've  told  Peters  to  pack  a  kit  bag  for 
you.  And  this  time,  old  son,  you  had  better  see  that 
you  don't  forget  your  revolver." 

Under  the  goad  of  the  Chief  Constable's  uneasy  eye 
I  was  fain  to  gaze  at  the  black  silk  handkerchief,  which 
still  bore  my  wrist. 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  a  lame  duck  anyway,"  I  said. 

"You  will  do  to  hold  the  horses  at  the  foot  of  the 
Castle  rock.  Climbing  up  the  face  of  that  cliff  will  be 
out  of  the  question  as  far  as  you  are  concerned.  Now 


NEWS  FROM  ILLYRIA  335 

then,  you  fellows,"  the  Man  of  Destiny  took  out  his 
watch,  "you  have  just  two  minutes  to  finish  your  port 
and  get  your  cigars  alight  and  then  it's  boot  and 
saddle." 

"Nevil,"  said  the  imperious  voice  of  the  Great  Lady, 
"I  am  really  afraid  you  are  mad." 

The  Man  of  Destiny  did  not  deign  to  heed  this 
irrelevant  suggestion. 

The  exigencies  of  historical  truth  render  it  necessary 
to  record  the  fact  that  Joseph  Jocelyn  De  Vere  Vane- 
Anstruther  was  undoubtedly  the  first  respondent  to  the 
call.  My  relation  by  marriage  drank  his  port  wine  and 
rose  in  his  place  at  Mrs.  Catesby's  board.  There  was 
a  fire  in  his  eye  and  the  suspicion  of  a  hectic  flush  upon 
his  countenance  which  seemed  to  contrast  strangely  with 
the  habitual  languor  of  his  bearing. 

"First  thing  we  must  do  is  to  send  a  wire  to  old 
Alec,"  he  said;  "although  he  is  certain  not  to  be  in  if 
we  send  it.  If  we  get  to  town  by  12.15  I  will  trot 
round  to  the  Continental.  The  beggar  is  sure  to  be 
there  until  they  kick  him  out  as  there  is  a  ball  to-night 
at  Covent  Garden." 

This  reasoning  may  have  been  lucid  and  it  may  have 
been  pregnant ;  at  least  it  recommended  itself  to  the 
comprehensive  intellect  of  the  Man  of  Destiny. 

"Quite  right,  Vane-Anstruther.  I  shall  hold  you 
responsible  for  O'Mulligan." 

"Joseph,"  said  the  Great  Lady  upon  a  stentorian 
note,  "are  you  mad  also?" 

Hardly  had  this  pertinent  inquiry  been  advanced 
when  the  noble  Master  was  on  his  legs. 


336  MRS.    FITZ 

"So  awfully  sorry,  Mrs.  Catesby,"  he  said  with  a 
long-drawn  sweetness  of  apology,  "but  it  can't  be 
helped  in  the  circumstances,  can  it?  I  leave  hounds  in 
the  care  of  George  and  Frederick.  Keep  Potts  up  to 
his  work,  George,  and  see  that  he  pays  proper  attention 
to  their  feet.  And,  Frederick,  I  charge  you  to  make 
it  your  business  to  see  that  Madrigal  has  a  ball  every 
Friday." 

"Reginald,"  said  his  hostess  with  great  energy,  "in 
the  unavoidable  absence  of  your  widowed  and  unfor- 
tunate mother,  I  absolutely  forbid  you  to  bear  a  part 
in  this  hare-brained  enterprise.  I  really  don't  know 
what  Nevil  can  be  thinking  of." 

In  Ascalon  whisper  it  not,  but  this  was  the  precise 
moment  in  which  I  found  the  cynical  eye  of  the  Chief 
Constable  upon  me  for  the  second  time.  The  eye  was 
also  wary  and  a  little  pensive,  but  the  great  man  rose 
in  his  place  with  an  air  of  profound  rumination.  He 
slowly  cracked  a  walnut  and  then  turned  to  the  butler, 
with  a  coolness  which  to  my  mind  had  a  suspicion  of 
the  uncanny. 

"Just  tell  my  chap  to  have  my  car  round  at  once," 
he  said;  and  then  with  great  deference  to  his  hostess, 
"a  thousand  apologies,  Mrs.  Catesby,  but  you  do  see, 
don't  you,  that  it  can't  be  helped  ?" 

Whether  I  rose  to  my  feet  by  an  act  of  private 
volition  or  at  the  sub-conscious  beck  of  another's  com- 
pelling power,  there  is  no  need  to  attempt  to  determine. 
But  somehow  I  found  myself  upon  my  legs  and  adding 
my  own  imperfect  apologies  to  the  equally  imperfect 
ones  of  the  Chief  Constable. 


NEWS  FROM  ILLYRIA  337 

"Odo  Arbuthnot,"  said  my  hostess,  "sit  down  at  once. 
A  married  man,  a  father  of  a  family  and  a  county  mem- 
ber! Sit  down  at  once  and  get  on  with  your  fruit. 
Colonel  Coverdale !  I  am  surprised  at  you." 

"Finished  your  port,  Arbuthnot?"  said  Fitz  calmly. 
"Time's  about  up.  But  I've  told  your  chap  about  the 
car." 

Consternation  mingled  now  with  the  lively  feminine 
bewilderment,  but  Mrs.  Arbuthnot,  whom  Fitz's  news 
had  excited  and  distressed,  issued  no  personal  edict.  If 
the  life  of  Sonia  was  really  at  stake  it  was  right  to  take 
a  risk.  Nevertheless  it  shewed  a  right  feeling  about 
things  to  betray  a  little  public  perturbation  at  the 
prospect  of  being  made  a  widow. 

"Jodey  and  Reggie  and  Colonel  Coverdale  must  go," 
said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot.  "They  haven't  wives  and  fam- 
ilies dependent  upon  them.  But  you,  Odo,  are  different. 
And  then,  too,  your  wrist.  You  would  be  of  no  use  if 
you  went." 

"I  shall  do  to  hold  the  horses  at  the  foot  of  the 
Castle  rock,"  said  I,  saluting  a  white  cheek. 

Fitz  was  already  withdrawing  from  the  room  with  his 
volunteers  when  Lord  Frederick  rose  in  his  place  at  the 
board. 

"Look  here,  Fitzwaren,"  he  said.  "If  you  have  a 
vacancy  in  your  irregulars  I  rather  think  I'll  make 
one." 

"By  all  means,"  said  Fitz.    "The  more  the  merrier." 

Bewilderment  and  consternation  mounted  ever  higher 
around  Mrs.  Catesby's  mahogany. 


338  MRS.    FITZ 

"Freddie !  Freddie !"  There  arose  a  tearful  wail  from 
across  the  table. 

"You  ought  to  be  bled  for  the  simples,  Frederick," 
said  his  hostess. 

However,  even  as  the  Great  Lady  spoke,  honest 
George,  most  conscientious  of  husbands,  and  notwith- 
standing his  rank  in  the  Middleshire  Yeomanry,  the 
most  peace-loving  of  men,  was  understood  to  make  an 
offer  of  active  service. 

"Well  done,  George,"  said  his  friend  the  Vicar.  "I 
shouldn't  mind  coming  as  the  chaplain  to  the  force 
myself." 

"George,"  said  an  imperious  voice  from  the  table 
head,  "George!" 

The  Man  of  Destiny  halted  a  moment  on  the 
threshold  of  the  banquet  hall  with  the  frank  eye  of 
cynicism  fixed  midway  between  the  Great  Lady  and  the 
warlike  George. 

"George !     Sit  down !" 

Finally  George  sat  down  with  a  covert  glance  at  his 
friend  the  Vicar. 

By  the  time  we  had  got  into  our  overcoats  and 
mufflers  and  the  means  of  travel  had  been  provided  for 
us,  a  scene  with  some  pretensions  to  pathos  had  been 
enacted  in  the  hall. 

"Odo,  you  really  ought  not,  but  if  dear  Sonia  really 
is  in  danger !" 

"We  shall  all  be  back  a  week  to-night,"  the  Man  of 
Destiny  informed  my  somewhat  tearful  monitor  with  a 
note  of  assurance  in  his  voice. 

Moving  objurgations  of  "Freddie!  Freddie!"  were 


NEWS  FROM  ILLYRIA  339 

mingled  with  the  clarion  note  of  Mrs.  Catesby's  indig- 
nation. 

"It  is  a  mad  scheme,  and  if  you  get  your  deserts, 
you  will  all  be  shot  by  the  Illyrians." 

But  Fitz  and  I  were  already  seated  side  by  side  in 
the  car.  We  waved  a  farewell  to  the  bewildered  com- 
pany upon  the  hall  steps,  and  then  the  fact  seemed 
slowly  to  be  borne  in  upon  my  numbed  intelligence  that 
yet  again  I  was  irrevocably  committed  to  this  latest  and 
maddest  call  of  my  evil  genius.  There  he  sat  by  my 
side,  his  cigar  a  small  red  disc  of  fire,  and  he  self-pos- 
sessed, insouciant,  daemonic,  almost  gay. 

The  flaccid,  rudderless  creature  of  the  past  ten  days 
was  gone  as  though  he  had  never  been.  It  was  hard  to 
realise  that  this  born  leader  of  others,  who  courted  war 
like  a  mistress,  the  magic  of  whose  initiative  the  coolest 
and  sanest  could  not  resist,  was  the  self -same  broken 
fragment  of  human  wreckage  who  twenty-four  hours 
ago  had  not  the  motive  power  to  perform  the  simplest 
action.  But  there  could  be  no  question  of  the  magic 
he  knew  how  to  exert  over  the  most  diverse  natures ;  and 
as  we  sat  side  by  side  in  the  semi-darkness  of  the  car 
while  it  flew  along  the  muddy,  winding  and  narrow 
roads  to  Dympsfield  House,  I  yielded  almost  with  a 
thrill  of  exultation  to  the  director  of  my  fate. 


WE  had  no  difficulty  in  reaching  Middleham  railway 
station,  that  familiar  rendezvous,  at  the  appointed  time. 
Even  Lord  Frederick  who  lived  farther  afield  than  any 
of  us,  was  able  by  putting  a  powerful  car  to  an  illegal 
use,  to  arrive  on  the  stroke  of  the  hour. 

It  was  to  be  remarked  that  the  prevailing  tone  in 
our  coupe  was  one  which  almost  amounted  to  gaiety. 
Judged  by  the  cold  agnostic  eye,  the  scheme  was  only 
a  little  this  side  of  madness.  But  it  had  the  sanction 
of  a  high  motive.  Further,  we  were  brothers  in  arms 
who  had  smelt  powder  together  upon  a  more  dubious 
enterprise;  we  had  faith  in  one  another;  and  above  all 
we  were  sustained,  one  might  even  say  translated,  by 
the  epic  quality  of  an  incomparable  leader. 

Fitz  smoked  his  cigar  and  cut  in  at  a  rubber  of 
bridge  with  an  air  of  indulgent  and  serene  content. 

"It  is  lucky,"  he  said,  "that  I  know  an  old  innkeeper 
on  the  frontier  who  will  be  rather  useful  if  we  have  to 
go  without  passports.  He  is  about  a  mile  on  the 
Milesian  side,  and  will  be  able  to  provide  us  with  horses 
and  smuggle  us  across  in  the  darkness.  He  will  also 
find  for  us  a  couple  of  guides  over  the  mountains." 

"You  say  we  can  get  from  the  frontier  to  the  Castle 
340 


at  Blaenau  in  six  hours?"  inquired  the  gruff  voice  of 
the  Chief  Constable. 

"Yes,  unless  there  is  a  lot  of  snow  in  the  passes." 

"But  if  the  country  is  in  a  state  of  revolution,  aren't 
we  likely  to  be  held  up?" 

"Perhaps ;  perhaps  not.  We  shall  find  a  way  if  we 
have  to  take  an  airship.  Eh,  Joe?" 

The  Man  of  Destiny  gave  my  relation  by  marriage  a 
paternal  punch  in  the  ribs. 

"Ra.-ther !"  That  hero  was  in  the  act  of  cutting  an 
ace  and  winning  the  deal. 

"I  shall  arrange,"  said  Fitz,  "for  a  change  of  horses 
at  Postovik,  which  is  about  half-way.  If  all  goes  well 
we  shall  be  at  the  foot  of  the  Castle  rock  a  little  before 
midnight  on  Thursday.  I  am  thinking,  though,  that 
we  may  have  to  swim  the  Maravina." 

"Umph!"  growled  the  Chief  Constable,  declaring  an 
original  spade,  "a  moderately  cheerful  prospect  on  a 
January  night  in  Illyria." 

"It  may  not  come  to  that,  of  course.  But  all  the 
bridges  and  ferries  are  sure  to  be  guarded.  And  even 
if  they  are,  with  a  bit  of  luck  we  may  be  able  to  rush 
them." 

As  our  leader  began  to  evolve  his  plan  of  campaign 
it  could  not  be  said  to  forfeit  any  of  its  romance.  But 
I  think  it  would  be  neither  fair  nor  gracious  to  Mr. 
Nevil  Fitzwaren's  corps  of  irregulars  to  say  that  this 
spice  of  adventure  made  less  its  glamour.  We  could 
all  claim  some  little  experience  of  war  and  that  mimic 
sphere  of  action  "that  provides  the  image  of  war  with- 
out its  guilt,  and  only  thirty  per  cent,  of  its  dangers." 


342  MRS.    FITZ 

Some  of  us  had  taken  cover  upon  the  veldt  and  others 
had  crossed  the  Blakiston  after  a  week's  rain;  and  we 
all  felt  as  we  sped  towards  the  metropolis  at  the  rate  of 
sixty  miles  an  hour,  and  at  the  same  time  endeavoured 
to  restrain  the  cards  from  slipping  on  to  the  floor,  that 
whatever  Fate,  that  capricious  mistress,  had  in  store  for 
us,  our  hazard  was  for  as  high  a  stake  as  any  set  of 
gamesters  need  wish  to  play. 

Punctual  to  the  minute,  we  came  into  the  London 
terminus.  As  on  the  occasion  of  that  former  adven- 
ture, we  posted  off  to  Long's  quiet  family  hotel,  with 
the  exception  of  Joseph  Jocelyn  De  Vere  Vane-An- 
struther,  who  confided  his  kit-bag  to  the  care  of  his  man 
Kelly,  and  adjured  him  to  see  that  a  decent  room  was 
found  for  him,  while  he  went  "to  rout  out  Alec  at  the 
Continental  before  they  fired  the  beggar  out." 

"Tell  him  we  leave  Charing  Cross  at  10.40  in  the 
morning,"  said  Fitz.  "That  will  give  me  time  to  see 
what  can  be  done  in  the  way  of  papers,  although  as  far 
as  Illyria  is  concerned,  diplomatic  relations  are  pretty 
sure  to  have  been  suspended." 

Driving  again  to  Long's  Hotel,  I  was  regaled  with 
the  remembrance  of  our  former  journey;  of  the  inci- 
dent of  the  cab  which  followed  us  through  the  Novem- 
ber slush;  of  the  weird  sequel;  of  that  long  night  of 
alarums  and  excursions,  which  yet  was  no  more  than  a 
prelude  to  a  chaotic  vista  of  events. 

I  recalled  the  drive  from  Ward's  with  Coverdale; 
the  slow-drawn  tragi-comedy  of  suspense;  the  waiting- 
room  at  the  Embassy,  the  plunge  up  the  stairs,  the 
charming  player  of  Schumann,  the  presentation  to  her 


MORE  ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS    343 

Royal  Highness.  I  recalled  the  passages  with  the  Am- 
bassador and  their  terrible  issue;  the  drive  with  the 
Princess  to  the  Savoy;  the  episode  of  the  pink  satin 
at  which  I  could  now  afford  to  laugh.  Again  I  recalled 
our  bizarre  visit  to  Bryanston  Square;  our  reception 
by  my  uncle  Theodore,  his  "Fear  nothing,"  and  his 
still  more  curious  pre-vision  of  that  which  was  to  come 
to  pass.  I  recalled  our  dash  for  this  same  Great  British 
railway  station  and  the  merciful  shattering  of  our  hopes 
midway.  I  recalled  the  Scotland  Yard  inspector  with 
the  light  moustache,  the  hand  of  the  Princess  guiding 
me  through  the  traffic,  the  cool-fingered  doctor,  the 
bowl  of  crimson  water  at  which  I  did  not  care  to  look. 
Finally,  in  this  panoramic  jumble  of  wild  occurrences, 
the  memory  of  which  I  should  carry  to  the  grave,  I 
recalled  that  noble,  complex,  misguided  emblem  of  our 
species,  the  Victor  of  Rodova,  the  clear-sighted,  subtle 
yet  great-hearted  hero  of  an  epoch  in  the  destiny  of 
nations ;  the  father  of  his  people,  whom  his  children  had 
slain  even  while  the  hand  of  death  was  already  upon 
him. 

I  pictured  him  lying  riddled  with  bullets  on  the  steps 
of  his  palace  at  Blaenau,  riddled  with  the  bullets  he  had 
so  often  despised.  Even  from  the  brief  account  in  the 
evening  papers  it  was  clear  that  the  end  of  the  Victor 
of  Rodova  had  been  heroic. 

The  smouldering  volcano  had  burst  into  flame  at  last. 
A  tax-gatherer  had  been  slain  in  an  outlying  district. 
At  the  signal,  a  whole  province,  at  the  beck  of  one  half- 
patriot,  half-brigand,  rose  up,  marched  armed  to  the 
Capital,  and  called  upon  the  King  at  his  palace  to 


344  MRS.    FITZ 

grant  a  charter  to  his  people.  The  King  met  them 
alone,  as  was  his  custom,  on  the  steps  of  his  palace,  and 
having  listened  with  kindness  and  patience  to  their 
demands,  made  the  reply  "that  he  would  take  steps  to 
procure  the  charter  for  his  people,  if  the  peccant  son 
who  had  slain  a  faithful  servant  treacherously  was  ren- 
dered to  justice." 

Whether  the  King  deliberately  misread  the  temper 
of  his  subjects,  or  whether  he  overestimated  the  per- 
sonal power  it  was  his  custom  to  exert,  was  hard  to 
determine,  but  in  this  reply  which  was  so  strangely 
deficient  in  that  high  political  wisdom,  in  which  no  man 
of  his  age  excelled  him,  lay  his  doom.  The  leader  of 
the  armed  mob,  who  himself  had  slain  the  tax-gatherer, 
laughed  in  the  King's  face,  and  immediately  riddled  him 
with  bullets.  And  as  the  King  fell,  the  burghers  of 
Blaenau  poured  in  at  the  gates,  the  soldiers  revolted 
because  their  wages  were  overdue,  possession  was  taken 
of  the  Castle  and  the  long-deferred  republic  was  pro- 
claimed. 

"And  where  were  the  aristocracy  and  the  supporters 
of  the  monarchy  while  all  this  was  happening?"  I  asked, 
as  we  sat  in  the  lounge  at  the  hotel  having  a  final  drink 
before  turning  in. 

"Reading  between  the  lines  of  the  dispatch,"  said 
Fitz,  "I  should  be  inclined  to  say  that  they  had  con- 
spired to  throw  Ferdinand  over  at  the  last  and  to  let  in 
the  people.  I  can  reconcile  the  facts  on  no  other 
hypothesis." 

"Why  should  they?" 


"The  aristocracy  has  always  been  jealous  of  his 
power.  He  has  walked  too  much  alone." 

"It  is  hard  to  believe  that  they  would  yield  up  their 
country  to  mob  law." 

"They  have  their  own  safety  to  consider.  A  small 
and  exclusive  class,  not  accustomed  to  move  very 
actively  in  public  affairs,  they  have  little  control  of 
events.  And  the  army  having  joined  with  the  people, 
their  only  hope  is  to  sit  on  the  fence  and  try  to  hold 
what  they  have." 

"You  are  convinced  of  the  Princess'  danger?" 

"There  is  no  question  of  that.  Having  decided  to 
make  an  end  of  their  rulers,  the  French  Revolution  is 
quite  likely  to  be  enacted  over  again.  They  are  a  semi- 
barbarous  people  and  few  will  deny  that  they  have 
suffered." 

On  the  morrow  Fitz  was  early  abroad.  The  morning 
papers  brought  confirmation  of  the  news  from  Illyria. 
The  King  was  dead;  the  Crown  Princess  was  a  close 
prisoner  at  Blaenau  in  the  hands  of  the  insurgents ;  the 
Chancellor  and  other  ministers  had  fled  the  country ;  a 
number  of  regiments  had  massacred  their  officers ;  and 
it  was  expected  that  a  Committee  of  the  People  would 
take  over  the  government. 

At  Charing  Cross  we  found  Alexander  O'Mulligan 
already  waiting  for  us.  He  was  in  the  pink  of  health 
and  his  grin  was  extraordinarily  expansive.  Fitz  ar- 
rived with  the  necessary  tickets  for  the  whole  party, 
but  had  only  been  able  to  procure  passports  as  far  as 
the  frontier.  But,  as  he  explained,  this  need  not  trouble 


346  MRS.    FITZ 

us,  as  we  should  leave  the  train  before  we  came  there 
and  make  our  way  over  the  mountains  in  the  darkness. 

As  our  train  wound  its  way  through  suburbia  we 
began  more  clearly  to  realise  the  promise  of  a  crowded 
and  glorious  week.  The  motive  was  adequate ;  and  al- 
though the  Chief  Constable  and  myself  had  a  profound 
sense  of  the  rashness  of  the  scheme,  we  shared  the  com- 
mon faith  in  Fitz. 

Our  route  was  by  way  of  Paris.  It  was  more  direct 
to  go  from  Southampton,  but  there  was  very  little  dif- 
ference in  the  point  of  actual  time. 

When  we  reached  Paris,  soon  after  five  that  after- 
noon, we  learned  that  in  spite  of  the  representations  of 
the  Powers,  the  fate  of  the  Princess  still  hung  in  the 
balance.  We  stayed  only  an  hour  and  then  took  train 
again. 

All  night  we  travelled  and  all  through  the  next  day ; 
and  then,  as  Fitz  had  predicted,  shortly  after  five 
o'clock  in  the  evening  of  Thursday  we  had  come  to  the 
township  of  Orgov,  a  mile  from  the  Illyrian  frontier 
on  the  borders  of  Milesia.  Here  we  found  a  shrewd 
old  peasant  who  had  acted  as  the  friend  of  Fitz  on  a 
former  occasion,  and  with  whom  he  had  already  com- 
municated by  telegraph.  The  old  fellow  shook  his  head 
over  the  state  of  affairs  in  the  neighbouring  kingdom, 
but  provided  us  with  a  couple  of  trustworthy  guides 
through  the  mountains  and  seven  tolerable  horses,  one 
apiece  for  each  member  of  our  party. 

Fitz  affirmed  his  intention  of  getting  to  Blaenau  in 
six  hours.  The  innkeeper,  however,  declared  frankly 
that  this  was  impossible.  The  winter  had  been  severe; 


MORE  ALARUMS  AND  EXCURSIONS    347 

heavy  drifts  of  snow  lay  in  the  passes,  and  in  its  pres- 
ent state  the  cotmtry  itself  was  full  of  danger.  Indeed, 
our  friend  the  innkeeper  was  fain  to  declare  that  unless 
God  was  very  kind  to  us,  we  should  never  get  to  Blaenau 
at  all. 

However,  we  were  a  party  of  nine,  stout  fellows,  well 
armed  and  tolerably  mounted.  And  when  we  started 
from  Orgov  a  little  after  six  in  the  evening,  I  do  not 
think  the  sense  of  peril  oppressed  us  much.  Our  mis- 
sion was  of  the  highest ;  each  of  us  had  faith  in  himself 
and  in  his  comrades.  We  were  a  small  but  mobile  force 
in  fairly  hard  condition ;  and  I  think  it  may  be  claimed 
for  each  member  of  it  that  he  had  a  natural  love  of 
adventure. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 
IN  THE  BALANCE 

THE  air  was  shrewd  as  we  set  out  from  Orgov.  We 
took  a  narrow,  winding  bridle  path,  uncomfortably 
steep  in  places,  in  order  to  avoid  the  frontier  town  of 
Boruna,  wherein  trouble  might  lurk.  The  stars  were 
out  already,  with  Mars  straight  before  us  wonderfully 
large  and  red  as  we  rode  due  east.  There  was  an  ex- 
hilaration in  the  atmosphere  that  was  like  wine  in  the 
veins ;  and  presently  we  caught  the  tail  of  an  icy  blast 
that  made  us  glad  to  wrap  our  cloaks  around  us. 

An  impartial  view  of  such  an  enterprise  rendered  it 
clear  that  the  odds  were  greatly  in  favour  of  a  total 
failure.  How  could  six  men  and  a  cripple  hope  to  pene- 
trate into  the  heart  of  a  closely  guarded  fortress  ?  And 
assuming  that  we  got  in,  by  what  means  did  we  expect 
to  make  our  way  out  again!  In  all  conscience  the 
scheme  was  wild  enough,  but  this  was  not  the  hour  in 
which  to  lay  stress  upon  that  fact. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  qualities  of  our 
leader  were  a  great  aid  to  his  corps.  Undaunted 
courage,  invincible  optimism  were  his  in  amplest  meas- 
ure; and  this  attitude  of  mind  could  not  fail  to  react 
upon  his  comrades  in  arms.  Moreover,  in  the  most 
singular  degree  he  appeared  to  combine  with  the 

348 


IN  THE  BALANCE  349 

audacity  of  genius,  a  head  for  detail  and  a  shrewd  prac- 
tical wisdom,  which  very  seldom  embellish  the  characters 
of  those  who  depend  primarily  upon  the  faculty  of 
inspiration. 

As  mile  by  mile  we  traversed  these  snow-laden 
Illyrian  mountains,  the  possibility  of  anything  less  than 
complete  success  found  no  place  in  his  thoughts. 
"Nothing  is  impossible,"  was  his  motto,  and  this  he 
realised  with  plenary  conviction.  His  twin  soul  was 
calling  him  to  the  castle  at  Blaenau,  and  not  for  an 
instant  did  he  doubt  his  ability  to  obey  the  summons. 

It  was  our  plan  to  avoid  as  far  as  possible  all  cen- 
tres of  population.  Our  guides  being  men  of  experi- 
ence, familiar  with  all  the  bypaths  and  bridle-roads, 
this  we  were  able  to  do,  and  even  to  save  time  in  the 
process.  But  as  the  innkeeper  had  insisted,  Fitz's 
optimism  had  misled  him  when  he  expected  to  reach  the 
Illyrian  capital  in  six  hours. 

When  we  took  our  first  bait,  at  an  inn  above  the 
sinister  waters  of  the  Lake  of  Montardo,  it  was  nearly 
nine  o'clock.  Coffee  and  cakes  were  very  acceptable ; 
indeed  I  have  seldom  tasted  anything  so  delicious.  But 
in  spite  of  our  diligence  and  a  fair  measure  of  luck,  we 
had  come  rather  less  than  twenty  miles  of  the  journey. 
Our  horses  were  good  for  another  twelve  miles  through 
the  formidable  pass  of  Ryhgo,  where  in  the  middle  of 
winter  the  mountain  streams  are  generally  in  spate. 

We  went  on  after  a  halt  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 
As  yet  we  had  seen  few  signs  of  the  revolution.  But 
at  the  inn  above  Montardo  ugly  rumours  were  rife. 
The  people  and  the  army  were  said  to  have  turned 


350  MRS.    FITZ 

against  the  aristocracy ;  they  were  butchering  them 
by  the  score  and  the  Crown  Princess  was  declared  to  be 
dead. 

That  our  mission  was  being  made  in  vain  Fitz  declined 
to  believe.  The  man's  courage  had  never  seemed  so 
remarkable  as  when  confronted  with  this  news. 

"If  she  were  already  dead,"  he  said  simply,  "I  should 
have  had  information.  I  shall  not  believe  it  until  I 
hold  her  corpse  in  my  arms." 

Through  the  pass  of  Ryhgo,  overshadowed  as  it  is 
by  the  gaunt  Illyrian  mountains,  the  narrow  path 
wound  along  the  very  edge  of  a  precipice.  Below  were 
the  waters  of  the  Lake  of  Montardo,  which  as  we  rode 
above  it  reflected  a  baleful  grandeur  to  the  stars.  The 
wind  was  very  piercing  now  and  drove  sheer  in  our 
faces  ;  not  a  little  did  it  add  to  the  dangers  of  our  prog- 
ress through  the  pass.  The  horses  had  only  to  make  a 
false  step  and  their  riders  would  be  hurled  a  thousand 
feet  into  those  terrible  black  waters  gleaming  below. 

Before  we  had  overcome  this  most  precarious  stage 
of  our  journey,  the  clouds  were  beaten  up  rapidly  by 
the  wind,  and  to  add  to  our  peril  and  discomfort  it 
came  on  to  snow.  It  was,  therefore,  a  great  relief  when 
at  last  we  came  to  an  inn  at  a  hamlet  with  an  unpro- 
nounceable name  wjhich  marked  the  end  of  the  pass.  It 
was  then  eleven  o'clock  and  we  had  come  little  more 
than  half  the  way. 

Here  we  found  a  friend  awaiting  us.  He  was  an 
Illyrian  acquaintance  of  Fitz's,  and  he  had  arranged 
the  details  of  our  mountain  journey.  A  member  of  a 
noble  family,  he  was  familiar  with  the  court  life  at 


IN  THE  BALANCE  351 

Blaenau,  and  had  borne  the  part  of  a  friend  in  the 
previous  episode  which  had  culminated  in  the  elopement 
of  the  Crown  Princess. 

He  was  an  agreeable  fellow,  quite  cosmopolitan,  and 
had  no  difficulty  in  making  himself  understood  in 
French,  in  which  tongue  he  enjoyed  a  greater  felicity 
than  any  of  us.  He  answered  to  the  name  of  John, 
although  his  full  title,  which  was  very  long  and  hard 
to  pronounce,  I  have  forgotten.  He,  too,  had  heard  the 
common  report  that  the  Princess  was  dead,  but  chose 
to  express  no  opinion  in  regard  to  the  truth  of  it. 

When  Fitz  outlined  his  project,  he  expressed  a  mild 
astonishment. 

"But  how,"  said  he,  "will  you  cross  the  Maravina?" 

"You  don't  suppose,"  said  Fitz,  "that  we  have  come 
as  far  as  this  to  be  deterred  by  the  crossing  of  the 
Maravina?" 

"All  the  bridges  are  closely  guarded  by  the  Repub- 
licans. The  ferries  also." 

"We  can  swim  the  Maravina,  at  a  pinch." 

"You  English  can  do  most  things,"  said  John,  "but 
don't  attempt  to  swim  the  Maravina  in  the  middle  of 
January  is  my  advice." 

John's  view  drew  a  growl  of  deep  bass  approval  from 
no  less  a  person  than  the  Chief  Constable  of  Middle- 
shire. 

"We  shall  do  what  we  can,"  said  the  Man  of  Destiny, 
with  excellent  indifference. 

"Yes,  but  we  damn  well  needn't  do  what  we  can't," 
said  the  Chief  Constable  sotto  voce,  yet  meaning  no 
disrespect  to  his  native  tongue. 


352  MRS.    FITZ 

I  must  confess  to  an  involuntary  shudder,  as,  at  the 
instance  of  a  too-active  imagination,  the  waters  of  the 
Maravina  pierced  a  pair  of  leathers  "by  a  local  artist 
of  the  name  of  Jobson."  They  seemed  miserably  damp 
already.  And  if  anything  feels  more  miserable  than 
a  pair  of  leathers  when  they  are  damp,  I  pray  to  be 
spared  the  knowledge. 

High  as  our  mission  was,  the  flesh  was  loth  to  quit 
the  warm  stove  at  the  hostelry  of  "The  Hanging  Cross" 
for  those  terrible  purlieus  that  wound  through  the  heart 
of  the  wild  Illyrian  mountains.  But  at  least  we  could 
congratulate  ourselves  that  the  pass  of  Ryhgo  was  at 
an  end,  and  that  the  black  waters  of  Lake  Montardo 
no  longer  lay  in  wait  for  the  hapless  traveller  a  thou- 
sand feet  below.  Also  the  snow  had  ceased,  the  wind 
had  fallen,  Mars  and  his  brethren  were  looking  again 
upon  us,  and  there  was  a  faint  suspicion  of  a  crescent 
moon. 

Our  weary  beasts  had  been  exchanged  for  a  fresh 
relay  at  the  hostelry  of  "The  Hanging  Cross."  In 
addition  to  a  reinforcement  in  the  shape  of  John,  a 
led  horse  with  a  side  saddle  accompanied  us  for  the  use 
of  the  Princess.  With  fairer  conditions  and  a  path  less 
perilous  to  traverse,  we  began  to  improve  considerably 
upon  our  previous  rate  of  progression.  Then  the  road 
began  again  to  grow  difficult,  but  happily  the  sky  kept 
clear. 

During  the  later  stages  of  the  journey  we  passed 
through  several  hamlets  and  small  towns.  To  judge 
by  the  lights  in  the  windows  of  the  houses  and  the 
demeanour  of  little  groups  of  people  in  the  streets,  a 


IN  THE  BALANCE  353 

general  spirit  of  uneasiness  was  abroad.  Men  clad  in 
the  picturesque  skin  caps,  which  are  so  typical  of  the 
country,  were  to  be  seen  carrying  formidable-looking 
guns ;  and  although  such  a  cavalcade  excited  their 
curiosity  they  allowed  it  to  pass. 

We  had  no  adventures  worthy  of  the  name.  In  one 
of  the  mountain  valleys  a  deep  crevasse  was  concealed 
by  a  drift  of  snow,  and  we  owed  it  to  the  vigilance  of 
our  guides  that  we  were  not  its  victims.  The  wind  was 
still  very  piercing,  but  acting  upon  Fitz's  advice  before 
we  started,  we  had  all  taken  the  precaution  to  be  well 
clad. 

Our  progress  was  really  better  than  we  realised.  A 
sudden  turn  in  the  road  revealed  a  very  broad  and  rapid 
torrent.  It  was  the  Maravina;  and  there  upon  the 
farther  bank  was  the  bluff  upstanding  rock  crowned 
with  the  majestic  castle  of  Blaenau.  Nestling  close 
about  it  was  a  dark  huddle  of  houses  and  gaunt  church 
spires  of  the  capital  city  of  Illyria. 

"There  you  are,"  cried  John,  with  a  wave  of  the 
hand.  "Now,  my  friends,  are  you  tempted  to  swim 
across?" 

"I  daresay  we  shall  find  a  bridge,"  said  Fitz  non- 
chalantly enough. 

"They  are  all  bound  to  be  guarded  by  the  enemy." 

"Maybe,"  said  the  Man  of  Destiny  imperturbably. 

Away  to  the  right,  at  the  distance  of  a  mile,  was 
one  of  the  smaller  bridges  into  the  city.  It  was  a 
rickety,  wooden  structure,  guarded  by  a  gate  with  a 
turret,  which  had  a  quaintly  mediaeval  aspect.  In  front 
of  the  gate  a  bright  coke  fire  was  burning  in  a  bucket, 


354  MRS.    FITZ 

and  sprawling  around  it  in  attitudes  which  suggested 
varying  phases  of  somnolence  were  a  number  of  men 
in  uniform. 

A  shaggy,  fierce-looking,  finely-grown  fellow  rose  to 
his  feet  and  challenged  us.  Fitz  replied  promptly  in 
his  suavest  and  best  Illyrian.  Not  a  word  of  the  con- 
versation that  ensued  was  intelligible  to  me,  but  it  was 
punctuated  by  the  approving  laughter  of  John  and 
the  guides,  and  was  conducted  on  both  sides  with  the 
highest  good-humour. 

Its  conclusion  at  any  rate  was  in  keeping  with  this 
surmise.  Fitz  was  seen  to  slip  a  piece  of  gold  into 
a  furtive  palm;  the  password  was  whispered  to  him; 
and  the  gate  was  opened  just  far  enough  for  each  of  us 
to  pass  through  one  at  a  time. 

"If  there  is  a  more  corrupt  rogue  than  an  Illyrian 
corporal  of  infantry,"  said  John,  "on  the  face  of  this 
fair  earth,  I  am  glad  to  say  I  have  met  him  not." 

"Evil  practices  breed  an  evil  state,"  said  the  sen- 
tentious Fitz.  "If  chaps  have  to  whistle  for  their  wages 
what  can  you  expect?" 

"Let  us  hope  the  custodians  of  the  Castle  will  prove 
as  susceptible,"  I  observed  piously. 

"Ah,  there  you  have  another  sort  of  bird!"  said 
Fitz. 

There  was  a  second  gate  on  the  city  side  of  the 
bridge.  This  also  was  guarded  by  the  soldiery,  but 
the  password  given  boldly  got  us  through  without  a 
question.  There  were  tall  spikes  set  in  a  row  on  the  top 
of  the  heavy  and  unwieldy  gate.  They  were  adorned 
with  a  row  of  human  heads. 


IN  THE  BALANCE  355 

To  me,  I  confess,  these  grisly  mementoes  brought  a 
shudder. 

"They  appear  to  do  things  pleasantly  at  Blaenau," 
said  Frederick. 

"They  can  go  one  better  than  that,  my  son,"  said 
Fitz,  "if  they  get  the  chance.  I  should  advise  each 
of  you,  in  the  case  of  emergency,  to  leave  just  one 
cartridge  in  his  revolver." 

To  a  married  man,  a  father  of  a  family,  and  a 
county  member,  with  his  left  arm  in  a  black  silk  hand- 
kerchief, who  did  not  feel  particularly  secure  in  the 
saddle  as  he  rode  knee  to  knee  across  the  bridge  with 
his  misguided  friend  the  Chief  Constable  of  Middleshire, 
the  icy  wind  which  saluted  him  from  the  mighty  torrent 
swirling  beneath,  blew  distinctly  "thin."  Somewhat  bit- 
terly he  began  to  deplore  that  decree  of  fate  which  had 
bereft  him  of  the  use  of  a  hand. 

Through  narrow,  close-built  streets,  whose  odours 
were  decidedly  unpleasant,  we  passed  unmolested  until 
we  came  into  the  shadow  of  the  castle  rock.  In  the 
faint  light  of  the  stars  it  towered  a  sheer  and  beetling 
pile. 

Dismounting  we  tied  the  horses  to  a  fence.  Fitz 
took  a  dark  lantern  from  his  saddle;  and  among  a 
miscellaneous  collection  of  articles  with  which  he  had 
the  forethought  to  provide  himself,  was  a  coil  of  rope. 
This  it  seemed  was  capable  of  adjustment  into  the  form 
of  a  ladder ;  and  our  leader  affirmed  his  intention  of 
being  the  first  man  up  the  castle  wall.  He  proposed 
to  affix  this  contrivance  to  the  coping  at  the  top  in 


356  MRS.    FITZ 

order  that  the  others  might  climb  up  as  easily  and  as 
expeditiously  as  possible. 

There  was  nothing  for  me  save  to  resign  myself  to 
stay  with  the  two  guides  in  charge  of  the  horses.  It 
would  have  been  a  physical  impossibility  for  a  man 
bereft  of  the  use  of  an  arm  to  climb  that  sheer  precipice. 

Fitz's  parting  words  of  advice  to  me  were  charac- 
teristic. 

"If,"  said  he,  "a  sentry  should  come  along  and  want 
to  know  your  business — I  don't  suppose  he  will,  because 
they  don't  appear  to  have  mounted  a  picket — knock  out 
his  brains  at  once,  and  make  one  of  the  guides  put  on 
his  uniform  and  shoulder  his  gun  and  march  up  and 
down.  So  long,  old  son." 

The  Man  of  Destiny  was  gone,  perhaps  for  ever.  As 
each  of  my  comrades  in  arms  climbed  over  the  low 
fence  in  his  wake  I  wished  him  good  luck.  It  seemed 
hardly  a  fighting  chance  that  we  should  ever  look  on 
one  another  again. 

They  had  left  their  cloaks  behind,  and  these  together 
with  my  own,  were  thrown  over  the  horses  which  had 
carried  us  so  well.  Tobacco  is  a  great  solace  in  sea- 
sons of  tension,  but  the  long-drawn  suspense  to  which 
I  had  to  submit  soon  became  intolerable. 

To  a  lover  of  the  aurea  mediocritas,  a  twentieth  cen- 
tury British  paterfamilias  confirmed  in  the  comfortable 
security  of  a  civil  life,  such  a  predicament  was  absurd. 
It  was  painful  indeed  to  march  hour  after  hour  up  and 
down  the  broken  ground  at  the  foot  of  the  castle  rock. 
A  pipe  was  in  my  teeth,  otherwise  I  was  signally  ex- 
posed to  the  rigours  of  a  long  January  night  in  Elyria. 


IN  THE  BALANCE  357 

A  bloody  end  was  my  perpetual  contemplation.  And 
I  hardly  dared  to  think  what  lay  in  store  for  my  com- 
rades, the  faint  hope  of  whose  return  it  was  my  bounden 
duty  to  await. 

There  were  moments  in  this  season  of  poignant 
misery  when  I  felt  myself  to  be  growing  absolutely 
desperate.  Why  be  ashamed  to  make  the  confession? 
The  sensation  of  impotence  was  truly  terrible.  As  the 
time  passed  and  not  a  sound  was  to  be  heard,  God 
alone  knew  what  was  being  transacted  in  that  frowning 
eyrie  under  the  cover  of  the  night. 

Like  most  of  those  who  have  the  unlucky  leaven  of 
imagination  in  their  clay,  my  instinctive  optimism  is 
often  on  its  trial.  While  I  marched  up  and  down  in 
the  darkness,  trying  vainly  to  keep  warm,  waiting  for 
that  tardy  dawn  in  which  death  lurked  for  us  all,  I 
would  have  laid  long  odds  that  the  doom  of  the  Princess 
was  sealed  already  and  that  my  comrades  in  arms  would 
share  it. 

A  man  should  strive  in  some  sort  to  figure  as  a  hero 
when  he  comes  to  the  purple  patches  in  his  own  history. 
But  if  a  profuse  fear  of  the  immediate  future  in  com- 
bination with  a  lively  horror  of  the  present  are  com- 
patible with  that  decree,  so  be  it.  Throughout  those 
hours  of  inaction  I  suffered  the  torments  of  the  damned. 

Again  and  again  I  strained  nervously  to  catch  a  foot- 
fall, and  each  time  I  did  so  Fitz's  sinister  injunction 
was  in  my  ears.  I  recognised  its  wisdom,  but  what  a 
counsel  for  a  respectable  law-abiding  Englishman! 
Conceive  the  husband  of  Mrs.  Arbuthnot,  the  father  of 
Miss  Lucinda,  the  sensitive  product  of  a  settled  state  of 


358  MRS.    FITZ 

society,  lying  in  wait  to  knock  out  the  brains  of  a  fellow 
creature  on  hardly  any  pretext  at  all! 

Prudence  is  not  without  a  tenderness  for  those  who 
court  her ;  at  least  a  liberal  supply  of  tobacco  was  in 
my  pouch.  In  a  state  of  sheer  desperation  I  smoked 
away  the  intolerable  hours,  and  even  had  tobacco  to 
share  with  the  guides  who  placidly  awaited  the  dawn 
in  the  lee  of  the  horses. 

These  were  rugged,  silent,  contained  men.  I  had 
not  a  word  of  their  language  whatever  it  was,  and  I 
think  it  was  a  kind  of  Milesian  argot.  But  there  was 
an  air  of  torpid  responsibility  about  them.  They  were 
honest  peasants,  calm,  unimaginative,  faithful. 

The  hour  of  five  was  told  from  half  a  dozen  steeples 
of  the  capital.  In  less  than  three  short  hours  the  fate 
of  us  all  would  be  sealed.  My  mind  went  back  to  Mid- 
dleshire  and  I  could  have  wept  for  vexation.  Every- 
thing was  so  happy  and  comfortable  there.  If  Mrs. 
Arbuthnot  did  not  see  eye  to  eye  with  me  in  all  things, 
an  occasional  discreet  diversity  of  opinion  merely  served 
as  a  sauce  to  our  life  together. 

Yes,  life  and  all  that  pertained  to  it  was  very  dear 
to  me.  It  is  proper,  of  course,  to  maintain  a  becoming 
reticence  about  that  indissoluble  core  of  egoism  that 
lies  at  the  heart  of  us  all.  But  during  these  unspeak- 
able hours  I  could  not  dissemble  it.  Why  had  it  pleased 
fate  to  project  this  ill-starred  creature,  one  altogether 
outside  the  circle  of  my  interests,  one  alien  in  birth,  in 
race,  in  fortune,  into  the  quiet  backwater  of  my  years? 
Was  there  not  a  wantonness  in  shattering  such  a  com- 


IN  THE  BALANCE  359 

fortable  hedonism  in  this  cruel,  meaningless,  irrespon- 
sible way? 

What  man  can  be  a  hero  to  his  autobiographer? 
By  all  the  rules  of  the  game  I  ought  to  have  been 
bathed  in  a  kind  of  moral  limelight  as  I  walked  my 
miserable  beat  throughout  that  cursed  Illyrian  night. 
It  should  be  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  present 
a  picture  of  stoical  disdain  for  Dame  Fortune  and  her 
fantasies. 

But  the  blunt  truth  is  before  me,  ignoble  as  it  is. 
Life  meant  too  much.  The  least  of  my  thoughts  should 
have  been  dedicated  to  that  high  and  noble  mission 
which  had  lured  me  from  my  happy  home  in  an  English 
county.  I  should  have  had  my  mind  wholly  concen- 
trated on  the  fate  of  the  royal  lady  and  on  that  of 
those  stout  fellows  who  had  come  so  far  and  who  had 
endured  so  much  that  they  might  serve  her. 

Well,  I  will  not  deny  that  in  a  measure  my  thoughts 
were  for  them.  But  I  did  not  dare  to  speculate  on  what 
had  happened  to  them ;  their  fate  was  too  big  with 
tragic  possibilities.  Yet  ever  uppermost  within  me  was 
a  sore  vexation.  I  did  not  want  in  the  least  to  die,  and 
I  was  determined  not  to  do  so.  Unhappily  Fitz  had 
not  given  me  the  password  which  in  the  last  resort 
might  take  me  across  the  bridge ;  I  could  not  communi- 
cate with  the  guides;  I  was  a  stranger  in  a  strange 
land. 

Six  o'clock  was  told  from  the  steeples  of  the  city, 
but  there  was  not  a  sound  from  the  castle  rock. 
Despair  gripped  me  by  the  heart.  The  Princess  was 
dead  and  my  friends  had  been  unable  to  make  their 


360  MRS.    FITZ 

way  out  of  the  fortress  they  had  had  the  incredible 
foolhardiness  to  enter.  But  until  daylight  came  I  must 
wait  at  my  post ;  yea,  if  I  could  contrive  it,  longer  than 
that  it  behooved  me  to  remain. 

Already  the  sleeping  city  was  beginning  to  stir  un- 
easily. Distant  sounds  proceeded  from  it;  within  ten 
paces  of  our  horses  a  farmer's  wagon  had  passed  along 
the  road.  Figures  began  to  emerge  from  the  darkness 
and  to  re-enter  it.  Doubtless  they  were  workmen  going 
to  their  toil.  The  icy  blasts  from  the  river  congealed 
my  blood.  Half -past  six  tolled  from  the  steeples ;  house- 
maids in  pink  print  dresses  were  lighting  the  fires  at 
Dympsfield  House. 

I  began  to  scourge  my  brain  for  a  plan  of  escape  in 
broad  daylight  from  this  accursed  place,  in  case  Fitz 
did  not  return.  But  even  my  mind  was  numbed,  and  it 
was  under  the  dominion  of  two  clear  facts :  I  did  not 
know  a  word  of  the  Illyrian  tongue  and  I  knew  nothing 
of  the  habits  and  the  customs  of  the  country. 

The  row  of  heads  upon  the  city  gate  occupied  a 
chamber  to  themselves  in  the  halls  of  my  imagination. 
In  whatever  direction  I  turned  my  thoughts,  there  was 
that  grisly  frieze  before  my  eyes.  Presently  I  made 
the  discovery  that  I.  had  bitten  the  stem  of  my  pipe 
clean  through. 

It  was  now  seven  o'clock  and  I  had  yielded  up  all 
hope  of  Fitz.  So  tragedy  after  all  was  to  be  the  end 
of  these  wild  oscillations  which  had  begun  with  broad 
farce.  The  unhappy  "circus  rider  from  Vienna"  had 
been  done  to  death  by  the  people  for  whom  she  had 
given  all.  Not  only  had  they  rejected  her  sacrifice  but 


IN  THE  BALANCE  361 

they  had  requited  it  with  brutal  treachery.  And  the 
noble  man  who  had  loved  her,  and  those  brave  fellows 
who  had  dared  everything  to  serve  her,  regardless  of 
lives  they  valued  as  highly  as  I  did  my  own,  had  perished 
in  her  cause. 

Rage  and  horror  began  to  rise  up  within  me.  God 
in  heaven,  was  this  the  end  of  our  adventure?  It  was  a 
quarter  past  seven ;  the  whole  city  was  astir. 

The  dawn  was  coming.  There  were  a  few  faint 
streaks  of  grey  already  above  the  castle  rock.  Numbed 
and  helpless  I  strained  my  eyes  upwards  to  that  sinister 
pile.  Cold  in  body,  faint  in  spirit,  I  knew  not  what  to 
do,  nor  which  way  to  turn.  And  then,  before  I  could 
realise  what  had  come  to  pass,  there  was  a  surge  of 
dark  and  stealthy  figures,  there  was  a  hand  on  my 
shoulder  and  a  low  voice  was  in  my  ears : 

"The  horses!     The  horses!" 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE  CREATURES  OF  PERRAULT 

HALF  paralysed  as  were  the  physical  senses,  there 
was  a  magic  in  the  words.  Involuntarily,  scarcely 
knowing  what  I  did,  I  helped  to  unloose  the  horses.  I 
saw  the  others  climb  into  their  saddles ;  with  a  little 
friendly  help  I  got  into  mine. 

In  the  growing  light  of  the  dawn,  we  started  at  a 
gentle  pace  towards  the  old  and  quaint  and  many- 
gabled  city.  Yet  it  was  still  too  dark  to  see  who  pre- 
cisely was  of  our  company.  We  came  to  the  bridge, 
and  halted  while  Fitz  gave  the  password  at  the  gate. 
Suspicious  eyes  were  cast  upon  him,  but  they  let  us 
through. 

At  the  farther  gate  Fitz  gave  the  password  again. 
There  was  a  little  delay  in  the  course  of  which  Fitz 
spoke  in  a  jovial  manner  with  the  corporal  of  infantry. 
Finally  another  gold  piece  changed  owners,  and  then 
we  were  allowed  to  pass  on  to  the  open  country. 

Without  having  to  fire  a  shot,  we  had  got  clear  of 
the  city.  As  yet  I  knew  nothing  of  what  had  happened 
during  the  hours  of  my  suspense,  but  I  was  able  to 
make  out  in  the  dim  light  that  two  of  the  other  sex  had 
augmented  our  company.  One  riding  by  the  side  of 

362 


THE  CREATURES  OF  PERRAULT   363 

Fitz  had  a  familiar  outline;  the  other,  an  unknown 
lady,  was  accommodated  somewhat  insecurely  in  front 
of  the  saddle  of  Joseph  Jocelyn  De  Vere. 

As  we  turned  towards  the  mountain  road  there  came 
the  booming  of  a  gun  across  the  turbulent  waters  of  the 
Maravina. 

"They  are  awake  at  last,"  said  a  gruff  voice  at  my 
elbow.  The  Chief  Constable  seemed  very  weary  and 
very  grim. 

Hard  and  straight  we  rode  through  the  compara- 
tively easy  country  to  the  inn  at  the  head  of  the  Pass 
of  Ryhgo.  We  had  to  be  content  with  a  change  of 
horses  here;  there  was  not  time  to  allow  of  anything 
else  beyond  a  cup  of  spiced  wine. 

In  broad  daylight  the  Pass  of  Ryhgo  was  shorn  of 
many  of  its  terrors.  But  as  we  rode  above  the  lake 
the  path  was  so  narrow  and  its  turns  so  sharp  that 
care  was  still  necessary.  Happily  the  wind  was  now 
dead. 

Even  now  I  was  hardly  in  a  state  to  realise  what  had 
occurred.  The  strain  upon  my  mind  was  still  acute; 
my  faculties  seemed  to  have  got  out  of  control. 

"We  had  wonderful  luck."  The  voice  of  the  Chief 
Constable  sounded  remote  and  meaningless.  "It  was 
a  devil  of  a  climb  up  that  rock,  and  I'll  lay  odds  that 
we  should  never  have  got  to  the  top  at  all,  if  Fitz  hadn't 
remembered  a  secret  stairway  that  led  right  into  the 
heart  of  the  place.  Either  the  burghers  of  Blaenau 
had  forgotten  all  about  it  or  they  didn't  know  of  its 
existence.  But  Fitz  remembered  it  all  right  as  soon  as 
he  happened  to  see  the  hole  in  the  rock.  When  we 


364  MRS.    FITZ 

got  in,  it  was  as  black  as  the  tomb,  except  for  Fitz's 
lantern. 

"It  was  a  poisonous  journey  up  an  interminable  flight 
of  winding  stone  steps.  It  took  us  quite  an  hour  to 
come  to  the  end.  And  then  we  found  ourselves  con- 
fronted by  a  door  of  solid  oak,  which  was  three  parts 
rotten.  It  took  us  another  hour  to  cut  through  that, 
and  Fitz's  lantern  went  out  and  we  had  to  keep  striking 
matches.  I  shall  never  forget  that  hour  in  the  dark 
until  my  dying  day.  And  when  we  got  through  that 
infernal  door  at  last,  where  do  you  suppose  we  found 
ourselves  ?" 

"I  cannot  say,"  I  said  dreamily,  with  a  vague  eye 
upon  the  black  waters  of  the  lake  below. 

"Behind  the  tapestry  of  the  King's  bedroom.  A  mar- 
vellous piece  of  luck!  It  is  a  strange  providence  that 
watches  over  some  things.  And  there  we  waited  in  the 
darkness,  with  our  hands  on  our  weapons,  while  Fitz 
made  his  way  to  the  Princess  and  he  brought  her  and 
her  woman  to  us,  and  we  got  clear  away  without  dis- 
turbing a  soul." 

"A  wonderful  and  an  incredible  story!" 

I  began  to  have  a  fear  that  I  might  pitch  from  my 
horse.  But  we  got  through  the  fell  Pass  of  Ryhgo  at 
last,  and  by  three  o'clock  that  afternoon  were  in  the 
presence  of  food,  and  a  shelter  and  security  in  the 
hostelry  a  mile  beyond  the  frontier.  Thereupon  a  mute 
prayer  passed  up  to  heaven  from  the  still  shuddering 
soul  of  a  married  man,  a  father  of  a  family  and  a 
county  member. 

The  unknown  lady  whom  Jodey  had  borne  so  gal- 


THE  CREATURES  OF  PERRAULT   365 

lantly  upon  his  saddle  through  the  perilous  mountain 
passes  was  none  other  than  the  Countess  Etta  von 
Zweidelheim,  that  lover  of  Schubert,  that  charming 
interpreter  of  Schumann  who  had  made  herself  re- 
sponsible for  the  statement  that  our  memorable  evening 
at  the  Embassy  was  "petter  than  Offenbach." 

Even  when  she  was  lifted  cold,  hungry  and  desper- 
ately fatigued  from  the  saddle  of  her  cavalier,  she  was 
inclined  to  laugh ;  and  we  were  able  to  raise  among  us 
a  sort  of  hollow  echo  of  her  mirth  when  we  observed 
the  solemnity  with  which  my  relation  by  marriage 
escorted  her  to  the  stove  and  chafed  her  bloodless  hands 
to  restore  the  circulation. 

The  somewhat  formal,  perhaps  slightly  embarrassed 
nature  of  our  laughter  did  not  fail,  even  in  these  cir- 
cumstances, of  its  customary  appeal  to  her  Royal  High- 
ness. Her  own,  however,  unloosed  a  thousand  memories 
which  I  shall  carry  to  the  grave,  and  perhaps  beyond. 

"Aha,  les  Anglais!"  There  was  a  maternal  indul- 
gence in  the  gaunt  eyes.  "Tres  bons  enfants!"  Her 
voice  was  low,  canorous,  quaintly  caressing.  "Tres 
bons  enfants!" 

Suddenly  she  turned  and  gave  both  her  hands  to  me. 
Lightly  my  lips  touched  the  frozen  fingers.  For  an 
instant  my  eyes  were  upon  the  strange  pallor  of  her 
face;  and  then  they  met,  in  a  kind  of  challenge,  the 
sunken  brilliancy  which  gave  it  life. 

"The  creatures  of  Perrault,  ma'am,"  I  said,  rather 
hysterically. 

THE     END 


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